Prophecy of a Shattered Identity
by ExodusofDreams
Summary: The Wizard Competition is over. The Russo family is in disarray. Alex has disappeared. The Wizard Council is lax and completely oblivious to the growing threats. Justin is in charge but his greatest challenge might be from someone closer than he expects.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wizards of Waverly Place or any characters from the show. Of course, this is a work of fiction. **

**This story is rated M due primarily language, violence and themes in the upcoming chapters. **

**What would happen if demons weren't always friendly? What if there is more sinister purpose behind the Wizard Competition. Why is magic regulated? This is going to be a longer story that considerably expands the plot, characters and environments****, introducing new drama, elements, and challenges, exploring these questions and much more. Familiar characters meet a different and much darker world.**

**Please review and give me feedback. Check my profile for update status. **

**Thanks again betas xX-Star Sapphire-Xx and FanFicGirl!**

**

* * *

**

**Prologue: Wizard Competition**

"A full wizard, there can be but one!" Jerry Russo cries out loudly, his words echo and boom. Holding the wand with a raised arm, the words reverberate as the first blue-purple bolt sizzling with energy shoots straight up from the tip.

"All power to a daughter or son!" Three pairs of hands join their father's on the upright, black rod and three more bolts follow the first. "To an ancient battle transport these three!" By now the normally lazy, tranquil clouds moving across a soft blue are now dark gray and black with anger, spiraling quickly around the sudden intrusion. Lightning cackles and dances in the cacophony, dancing in rhythm with thunder to a horrible tune that is known only to its creator, intensifying dramatically as the terrifically powerful spell is complete with the utterance, "Where one will emerge in victory!"

In a puff of spirally smoke the four vanish, reappearing on an ancient arena. The ground is sacred, old beyond comprehension and built entirely by hand. Four walls of white stone form a perfect square, each side exactly three hundred feet long. At each corner where the walls intersect is a tower. Three are exact replicas of each other while the fourth is considerably larger, not only in height but width too. Each has one flagpole with a banner waving proudly in the wind, cumulatively displaying the four elements of all magic, fire, earth, wind and water. What may look to the uninitiated as deep scratches, gouges and meaningless scribbles is actually deliberate; careful etches in the antediluvian tongue. The number of people able to decipher its wisdom may be counted on one hand. Regardless, they form a complex and powerful web of enchantments that prevents the magic contained therein from either ripping apart the arena or killing those within it.

In this case, Justin, Alex and Max, each are standing on one of the castle-like ramparts. The fourth and largest is where Jerry, prepares to watch his children battle. In the center of all the stone and humanity is a meticulously prepared, lush courtyard, soon-to-be-arena of grass. Its length perfectly trimmed to the same length and not a strand of brown or dead grass in sight. Tall, black, obelisk-like structures made out of hard, translucent crystal sprout periodically throughout the courtyard in preparation of the ensuing conflict.

The air is almost cackling and not just because of the present gathering energies. The tension is palpable and with good reason. At long last, the Wizard Competition is upon them. The competition is a brutal contest of knowledge, skill, prowess, cunning, and even perhaps luck. It originates from a time long past, an era where magic went unregulated and had no boundaries. The result is ceaseless bloodshed, atrocities and chaos. Eventually the dust settled and the survivors among the destitute ruins slowly rebuilt to their former glory. To prevent history from repeating itself the Wizard Competition is devised. It serves as the test that dictates who deserves full wizard powers the most. The rule highest among all others is viciously straightforward, one full wizard per family per generation. The tragic and unfortunate consequence of this whole affair is the literal destruction of complete families. Torn apart not by magic or par se but by misunderstanding, jealousy, resentment and anger.

For the Russo's this is complicated slightly by the fact that Jerry, gave up his powers to his brother - their uncle Kelbo. For the time making a highly questionable and rare decision, to marry a normal human, his wife and their mother, Theresa (who knows about magic, tolerates and even occasionally condones its use). Nevertheless they too are not immune to the strife the competition too frequently creates. In the process Kelbo and Jerry break ties with their sister Megan, whom, after the competition, disowns her brothers.

Even though Jerry Russo may have given up his powers to his brother it does not prevent him from educating his three children in the proper usage of magic. While little prevents the competition from being invoked at any time, strict policy govern its completion. That is, when the youngest child turns eighteen they have one year from his or her birthday. Non-compliance leads to fast, severe results that are best left not to be discovered. In the Russo's case, all of them fully realize that as soon as Max turns eighteen all three of the trainee's magical abilities must be merged and a sole, full wizard determined before the year ceases. A fact that simplifies this process is that he graduates from high school the same year. By consensus the three – Justin, Alex and Max - agree that on the 31st of July they will compete. The date is not purely random; it is the same as their father's so many years ago. Even so all of them hope for a more positive outcome than that of their father, uncle and aunt.

This innate knowledge causes the tension to seemingly increase as the gentle, whisper-like wind begins to cease and whatever clouds remain abandon the cerulean sky. It is almost as if the elements themselves wish no part in the coming deluge. The bright sunlight happily shines, illuminating the purple jumpsuits each contestant is wearing. Justin and Max standing on the towers closest to their father while Alex is sandwiched between her brothers perched between them on the adjacent corner.

Justin, the oldest, is proud to be here. Excitement runs through his veins, as does the subtle undertone of nervousness and concern that has always made up a small, but critical component of his personality. The endless hours of preparation and mental exercises do not do justice to the barrage of emotions going through his mind. Although it is impossible to tell given the serene if determined expression on his face. He knows this is likely the single most influential moment of his life. He also feels that his family is stronger than whatever the outcome. Their relationship is different, much different then that of his father and uncle. And while this causes pause it does not generate the deep emotional level of concern or worry so characteristically displayed in other 'crisis' situations. He is confident in his own abilities and skills, but he knows without question that his biggest challenge, not to completely discount Max, is going to be Alex. The thoughts running through his head marks the beginning of a short but intense series of mental preparations he specifically designed for this moment. He turns his head and looks at his first challenge.

Where Max's aptitude line of attack is entirely confusing his opponents even as he performs reckless (grossly at times) risks to himself. If any irony exists in his talents then that more often than not, he succeeds. Albeit exactly how he did so was often just as much a puzzle as why he made the daring attempt. Justin still lacks a credible strategy to counter these antics effectively, but he realizes that Max's spell casting is likely the weakest of the trio. Therefore the threat is significantly mitigated. In contrast, the second challenger, Alex, whatever she may lack in (knowledge or skill), she more than compensates for with gambles, risk and pure unadulterated guile. Devilishly crafty and with a highly imaginative and creative mind, she is a force to be reckoned with, foolhardy and stupid to underestimate. He finishes the first stage of his preparations and begins the second.

Alex, the middle child, feels the excitement as her older brother that fuels the adrenalin pumping merrily through her veins, but she understands the uphill battle facing Max and her. She fathoms the challenge far more then anyone. It is she that knows first hand the incredible knowledge and range of spells that Justin has contained within his naïve, albeit brilliant mind. She turns her head to look at him and realizes that the two have always been rivals to say the least. The exception is that unlike most strife between siblings, Justin's and Alex's are friendly, even loving at times.

And then there is Max. At one point she calls him "Mini-Me" due to the seer amount of confusion and drama he is capable of creating. She smiles at the reflection. Even more amusing, and perhaps making the former much more noteworthy is that he does most of his antics without trying. His innocent, cheerful attitude, and simple way of looking at the world makes her realize just how easy it is to overlook how mature and grown up her younger brother has become. Her gaze shifts from Justin to Max, her eyes meeting both. Something inside twinges, almost painfully. This is out of the ordinary. Don't ask her how or why it is, but it is; her heart knows it.

In a similar manner as Justin, she too is worried about their family. Not so much due to her brothers but more so due to her own actions. She cannot and would not ever admit this to anyone, including her best friend Harper, but for almost the last year she is frequently feeling more and more distant from her brothers. This is especially true during the previous six months when training for the competition redoubled. Partly it's Justin's pure talent and raw intellect that cause this. Some might even label the emotion as jealousy, but in truth it is much more than simple resentment. As the emotions continue to gather like storm clouds overhead, she drives them aside and forces them deep under into a place within her soul that she cannot feel.

Max, the most carefree and laid back of the trio, is collected and calm. One might expect him to be spontaneous, except he too senses that this is no time to joke and play. He wears an expression that is nothing but seriousness and concentration. He may have invested extensively more time and effort into his studies in the year or so prior to this moment, nevertheless like his sister, feels the intense pressure; and not only from Justin, but from Alex too. She may have a well-earned reputation for being a professional procrastinator, avoider, and even a slacker, but she isn't stupid. For one trying to get out of any manner of work or type of education she is exceptionally well rounded and knowledgeable.

If Alex is educated then Justin is a proficient, living encyclopedia housing every spell that likely exists.

And, as does his sister, Max constantly harasses and torments Justin to no avail. In exchange, besides the occasional look or fight of disdain and frustration, Max only receives love and acceptance. He knew this day is coming for some time, but he never in his wildest dreams or nightmares could imagine the cacophony of emotions and tension filling his body as it does now. They fill him with an odd combination of dread and anticipation. The two inherently different feelings mold, swirl and build off each other until he can't help but smile. At last, he is going to be given the opportunity to prove himself worthy of being a full wizard! What isn't there to celebrate?

Jerry Russo gazes out over the courtyard and to each of his children. Each is just close enough to see each other's faces clearly without being so near to read the delicate expressions that betray a person's true thoughts and feelings. He stares at Justin, Alex and then Max, turning his head in a clockwise direction at each of them, letting them see the love and adoration in his eyes. He, having stood in their place so many years ago, knows what is going through their heads and hearts. It takes a moment for him to gather himself, taking a deep breathe of reassurance before the quiet is broken.

"Are you all ready?" Jerry's voice is clear to all and his children respond in kind with a yes, or in the case of Alex, a nod. "Raise your right arm, palm facing me," - they do. "Now close your eyes and try to relax."

As each do a tingling and warmth that begins in their toes quickly spreads to engulf the entire body. It is almost like standing under the jet of a hot shower. Max and Justin smile at the sensation, Alex can't help it and giggles.

"The rules are simple. The first one to touch the magic ball gets it all. There is no second or third place." With their eyes closed none except Jerry may see that they are glowing a soft yellow as the magic is literally escaping their bodies. The yellow coalesces into basketball-sized spheres above the siblings' heads for a second before zooming to the middle of the arena, combining into a larger ball over a small stone altar. Jerry continues, "Remember, you must try, all of you. If you do not, this will not work and you all lose. No powers, no full wizard, no reverting back to being potential hopefuls like you are now"

In each of their raised hands a black wand appears. This match is the last time the three will all have the ability to cast and conjure spells. "Any spell that uses the elements, air, wind, water, fire or earth is allowed." Jerry looks from child to child, focusing on Alex and then Max as he speaks. "The best wizards are those that know how to do the most with the least."

Max and Alex immediately catch the meaning, nodding in quiet agreement. Justin, however, inwardly feels the pang of regret and aggravation as he instantly detects the subtle hint of encouragement obviously aimed at his rivals, as he receives nothing in between.

_At least I'm mature enough to take it! _Internally though, he realizes an important piece. _He wants me to win… Wait… no… that isn't quite right… He __**expects**__ me to win. Thanks Dad! _Justin thinks. Whether it is sarcastic or sincere Justin isn't sure, and there is not ample time to clarify his feelings.

Jerry stops to gather himself once more, swallowing. "Open your eyes." As soon as he catches sight of three pairs of eyes staring back at him he knows it is time. The carefully prepared speech he has been practicing comes out severely truncated but none for lack of conviction and honesty. The tone of his voices says that much. "Win or lose I'm proud of you all. I always have been and always will be. Each of you has earned the right to be here. I love you." For a moment his voice falters before regaining its strength as a look of resolve returns.

_This is becoming much more difficult than I thought. _The notion makes him swallow down the hard, raw, emotions. He loves his children. No matter the discord and chaos they may cause, it is without question they are his greatest pride and epitome of happiness.

"Ready!" Jerry shouts. Justin tenses and moves from a standing position into more of a crouch. "Set!" Alex, eyeballing her older brother, mimics him. As soon as she is able, she too is going to pounce. Max, on the other hand, remains posture unchanged. "MAGIC!"

Justin runs to the edge of the tower and jumps over the side. Gravity takes hold and instantly drags him towards the ground, a move that ordinarily would be fatal. However, just before hitting the grass a loud whoosh is heard as a mass of swirling, cushioning air mitigates the crushing speed into something survivable. Landing on his feet he begins to run towards the altar unchallenged. Almost a third of the way there he is forced to skid to a stop as a wall of flames suddenly appears in his path.

"Flames? Gotta do better than that Alex!" exclaims Justin, a strange mix of boredom and intrigue crossing his face. It doesn't matter that searing flames obscure his ability to see past them, he still knows Alex is the one who cast it.

Justin effortlessly squelches the fire by turning his wand into a makeshift fire hose. Water erupts from the end forcing the inferno to dissipate. Despite the blaze being out he isn't content and twirls his wand in narrow circles for a moment. The water that moments ago is being used to put out the fire is now a whirlpool, a light blue vortex that surrounds his entire body. It comes just in time as another flame wall appears. Alex, refusing to allow Justin to get the upper hand, casts another fiery wall, this time much closer to Justin than the first. Magic fights magic in a spectacular dazzle of white and orange sparks and unable to make up its mind as to a victor, spontaneously cancels each other out. The protective water vortex and fire wall shimmering into nothingness.

Suitably impressed with herself Alex cannot help but taunt her brother, "Is that good enough for you?" Justin merely glares at his sister when movement in his peripheral vision catches his interest.

Having suspected that this is how the battle is going to be Max is content to allow his older siblings merrily fight each other. Instead of directly opposing either he conjures his favorite spell. Instantly he dematerializes into a puddle of water; a puddle that now happens to be quickly falling downward from the starting tower and on to the grass, flowing across it.

Justin may preoccupy Alex but his watchful eyes spots the hard-to-see gleam of water as it reflects the sunlight. It is a dead giveaway.

"Sorry, Max, that isn't going to work," says Justin as Max, nearing his prize, feels suddenly cold, very, very cold, and it quickly becomes impossible to move. Powerless to even shift his eyes around he is unable to see that his puddle form is now a perfect, solid and quite frozen sphere.

_How could I forget about Max! That was brilliant Alex, just BRILLIANT! _Understanding flashes in Alex's eyes and furious at the thought of being outdone. She mentally curses herself out before seconding her brothers' notion to permanently stop Max. As she runs the ground cracks and groans, a pillar bursting forth in a rush of sand and mud. It carries the still frozen Max skyward until he is sky-high and overlooking the arena.

Initially they may have seemed like sufficient measures to eliminate Max as a potential threat, unfortunately the new height allows him to have an entirely new perspective on the battle – literally. At first he swears at his luck only to pleasantly discover it is actually helping.

_You're always one for risk taking Max, it's now or never! Might as well do it with a bang!_ If he could, he would have grinned.

With the pillar rumbling to a stop Max finds himself able to use the sudden vibration and occasional jolts to get him rolling. In this case, plainly, right off the top of the pillar. He arrives on the solid ground with enough force to shatter, pieces of ice breaking everywhere. What may be fatal outside the arena is instantly countered by the protective enchantments and the spell is undone. Max, reappearing as a human, his mind about as effective at functioning as swimming through caramel. Very dizzy and confused he stumbles. Of course, he could not have known this in advance, hence why the movement is such a risk.

The timing could not have been better as a lightning bolt passes right over Max and slams into the opposite wall. Several more follow as Justin attempts to slow down his sister. From the haze Max is pleasantly enjoying being able to hear Justin scream at Alex in frustration.

She is having none of Justin's antics and using a form of levitation is able to easily bypass him. Nearing the altar and her goal. She reaches out to touch the glowing yellow, ball but it abruptly zooms straight away in the opposite direction. Justin may have been at the wrong angle to counter Alex, but Max, having had the few needed moments to recover, is not. The wind spell is perfect and does exactly what he wanted. The spell propels the magic ball directly away from them, forcing both to turn sharply. Both siblings look at Max incredulously before racing towards the new location. Alex thoughtfully summoning a mud pit for Justin, and he obliges by falling into the sloppy mess.

Once more Alex nears the yellow sphere, and Justin, as he scrambles around in the muck for his lost wand, is helpless to stop her. Regretfully for Alex, her victory does not come as easily as she thought. She shrieks at the abrupt tornado appearing in front of her. The magic ball being carried aloft caught by its currents. The windstorm howls and moans piously as Max skillfully commands its direction. He smirks, as the center of the tornado twists into a sharp curve. The yellow sphere having reached the top is spit out the other end. Propelled by the winds its aim is perfect, directly at Max.

Alex watches in dismay, as the summoned earth wall doesn't rise quickly enough. "Come on! Come on! Move you damn wall. MOVE!" she swears in disbelief. _Max is going to win and all because of a bit of wind?_

Her mind goes to mush and despite searching for a remedy, cannot find one. All of a sudden ice falls. Small at first, it quickly begins to grow in both size and ferocity, but they aren't aimed at her. No, they seem to be assaulting Max's tornado. Max's creation falters, the swirling masses of air torn and ripped, bent and violated out of place. It loses strength and with a final last howl disappears from existence leaving a very perplexed and startled Max to figure out why the magic ball is laying fifteen feet in front of him.

Justin does not allow Max or Alex the luxury of time to contemplate the change of circumstances. Acting rapidly he performs a multitude of spells, one after another. First comes the thick, rolling fog. Covering the entire area like a thick blanket it conceals the heaving ground directly below as it sinks to form two raging rivers, one either side of the magic ball. To further ensure that neither may reach the magic sphere blue-white hot flames roar to life to form a protective dome over it. The third and final challenge is the lightning that merrily cackles all about, striking anything it pleases.

Alex cannot help but stare in quiet amazement and dread.

_Damn you Justin. Damn you_! She inwardly swears. Never did she comprehend such an inventive and brutal obstacle course. _Keep it up; when I win my victory will be all the sweeter! _Alex sneers. _He's going down._

Max seems to be sharing the sentiment. He utters a single word, "Wow." The sight literally robs him of breath. It taking a moment to fathom exactly what Justin has conjured. Being honest with himself he still isn't sure what it exactly is. What he does know is that he needs to get through it. The pair, despite not being able to see each other, immediately tests Justin's spells.

The earth bridge Max forms makes about halfway across the river when lightning comes crashing down. One bolt, two bolts, and then three, all of them in quick succession in purposely the same spot. The bridge collapses and vanishes into the river waves. Alex is discovering that her effort to disperse the fog is just as futile. Summoning a violent windstorm may move the fog but it feeds the flames just beyond. Already burning hot flames turn hotter still and merrily backtrack along the gusts. Her own windstorm turns into a fiery inferno. Thinking quickly Alex shifts the air current so it goes lower, much lower, barely skimming the ground. Instantly scorching, hot fire meets crisp, cool water. Not satisfied Alex forces it to go even lower. The river erupts in a furious cacophony, steam and smoke bursting into the air. It has the desired effect, the river is evaporating and quickly.

Max has revealed a creative tactic of his own. He continues to produce earth bridges, the lightning destroying them one after another, but all that rubble has to go somewhere and it ends up in the river. Quickly it accumulates and forms a makeshift dam. Ignoring the danger that the lightning possesses Max confidently runs across his fill-dam. On the other side Alex does the same as she runs through the now solid ground and on to the other side.

Occupied by the series of spells Justin has skillfully positioned, neither Alex nor Max is aware of the sky growing darker or the eerie blue-green glow emanating from the ground directly beneath their brother.

"Elementum of Unda," Justin mutters. "Sanctimonialis ut Ventus. Tribuo of Vita"

Energy begins to gather. Ancient symbols flash on the ground in a tight circle as each line of the incantation is spoken. Unable to hear the words himself Justin speaks up

"Ego precor vestri tutela."

Water begins to bubble up around Justin, his voice louder yet.

"Ego quaeso vestri vires!"

It meets the twirling air and mists, small droplets covering him in a fine sheen as he shouts the last line.

"Exhibeo mihi via ut Victoria!"

The invocation is antiquated, practically forgotten due to the courses of time. It finds birth and popularity in a war an eon ago. Many variations exist, but they all do the same function. If successfully performed, the spell turns the caster into a mighty elemental. The caster also inherit all its' astonishing abilities. Still, the duration of the spell is dictated by the hardiness and skill of the wizard. According to some legends the most gifted of those whom have long since passed are able stay in these forms for days, able to bring about tremendous destruction and suffering in their wake. Justin, for certain, has no such inclination or adeptness. Commandeering such forces demands terrific concentration and stamina. Elementals do not have a physical form in the manner a human does. Instead they reside as colorful, swirling and twirling energetic beings that are expansive and free ranging. In battles this is a fabulous advantage, leaving them impervious to many weapons - knaves, knives, swords and even bullets - that would otherwise cause great harm. Unfortunately if the wizard is not dreadfully attentive, the benefit often comes with a terrific price: death.

Once Justin morphs into the watery entity, he immediately begins to feel the strain. The conjured spirit of the elemental is not pleased to discover it is entering a human. The bi-pedal primates are far too limited, restrictive and confining. Justin is a way-too-small cage for all it cares, and it is all too happy to beat, pry and push against the bars – his body and mind. It is as if he is being pulled and stretched in opposite directions all over his body at once. The sensation isn't painful, but it's not comfortable either. Justin already has a killer headache. Should he lose his focus or will he risks being torn apart in a mass of energy. Whatever he does must be done swiftly as he realizes that both of his siblings are overcoming his obstacles more quickly than he anticipated.

The fire dome is proving to be a lot more trouble then Alex first anticipated. Water and fire cancel each other out. If either is present in sufficient overwhelming quantities, then the other force dies. Simple logic, but the flames refuse to cooperate. They also seemingly have intelligence. Every time they detect water they turn from a gentle yellow orange to an angry, intensely hot blue-white. The incredible amounts of steam do not help. It merely dampens her clothes, makes her hot and plasters her dark hair to her face and neck in a most uncomfortable fashion. As a result Alex hurriedly adjusts her strategy.

Oblivious to her sister's quandary Max is having a blast too, quite literally. He and water spells never get along. He is able to successfully cast them about as often as he is happy with the end results. As a substitute of trying to over power the fire dome he decides to burrow underneath it. The tip of his wand brightens as the magic is set forth. At the aimed spot the ground begins to buckle and yield, collapsing at the start then rearranging itself into a hollow tube. Everything seems to be going as he expects. Grinning in satisfaction he dives gleefully into the shallow tunnel, crawling forward on his hands and knees. As he progresses he notices that the walls are weeping water. Small drops turn into larger ones, the drops into trickles, streams and suddenly a torrent. Max discovers himself drenched and sputtering for breath as water, seemingly from everywhere does its best to drown its guest. Max, his mouth barely above the rapidly raising stream yells out a transportation spell. It does its job, and he is transported back to where he started. The timing could not have been better as the last few air pockets disappear in the raging deluge that seconds before were dry. Justin seems to have won this round for the moment.

Out of breath and panting Max stops. Crouching over with his hands on his knees for a few seconds, he begins ponder his options. Unable to see Alex he is still able to view her apparently futile attempts from the barrage of flashes against the dome. He then turns to look at Justin. It takes a moment for his mind to gather that something is not right. Justin is not where he was before. Max's vision is filled with a swirling, twirling, blue-ish thing that is halfway between a whirlpool and a tornado. It is impossible to tell from the loud howls it is emitting. An epiphany hits his mind like a ton of bricks. That swirling, twirling chaotic monster _IS _Justin. He visibly blanches; he doesn't even recognize _WHAT_ Justin has turned into. All Max does know is that it, or rather he, must be stopped.

"Nice try, Justin, but you can't get past me!" Max says as he spins his wand once, then twice, and several more times after. In the sky a small red dot appears, quickly growing in size after each subsequent rotation. Max points his wand at Justin, who is now slowly approaching. As the ball nears Justin feels its heat. It's a variation of the fire dome spell he is so effectively utilizing. If Justin could smile he would. Max is quite predictable and Justin is thoroughly prepared. Normal fire might be sufficient against normal water or even ice, but not an elemental.

The unfortunate truth is that elements have their own internal rivalries. Fire and water, just like earth and air, are one of them. As the fireball nears the Justin-now-the-elemental the elemental becomes furious. Holding an outstretched hand a water ball of equal size quickly forms and cascades into the fire. The two explode in a burst of energy so violent that Max and even Alex have to turn away. The elemental is pleased. It does not care that Justin is teetering. It also does not care that the energy expended to cast the spell comes from Justin too. Even as Justin staggers, it becoming much more difficult for him to stay upright, but he continues to move forward, closing the distance between Alex, Max and himself.

The abrupt flash and loud bang gets Alex's attention, and her eyes widen in horror at the creature Justin has turned himself into. Unlike Max she has some recollection of the transformation. From the depths of her mind she retrieves one word, and she whispers it incredulously, "Elemental." However that doesn't mean she is aware of exactly how to counter the thing. Her first instinct is to do exactly what Max tried. Obviously that plan won't work.

"So fire doesn't work but how about… this!" Alex aims her wand in front of Justin and an earthen wall appears, grass dotting the top. Much to her dismay this merely slows him down for another moment or two before a torrent of water bursts forth in a concentrated stream. It tears into the center of the barricade like a buzz saw. The highly pressurized water quickly shreds away the dirt and sod until a hole is formed directly through the middle. Another few seconds pass as Alex, in shock, fathoms that she, and likely Max too, simply lack the skill set to stop such a behemoth. The only remaining alternative is an all out assault on the fire dome.

"Max! Use air! I'll use water. We have to work together!" She may not be able to see him, but she can damn well talk!

"Ok… Ok! I'm ready. GO!" Max doesn't enjoy the thought of working with Alex. Actually he probably loathes the notion more than she does. He also isn't ignorant enough to comprehend that unless the two cooperate they lose any hope of becoming full wizards.

Max's first rush of air hits the flames instantly they flare and grow larger. A second, stronger blast hits the dome causing it to concave inward. Alex, having correctly assumed Max would choose something other than water chooses the latter and uses it. The rain appears as a huge torrent and as the tiny drops catch the wind gain velocity and drive themselves against the inferno. The combined assault is having an effect and although the flames fight valiantly they begin to show signs of disappearing.

Justin, meanwhile, continues to press forward. If he was at one hundred percent this would be no contest, but he is far from it. The elemental is sapping his strength quickly. He cannot maintain spell casting and this form at the same time, but he also cannot sacrifice the sole obstacle preventing a win. He compromises, the fog and lightning disappear giving both of his opponent's clear view at what they are confronting. It also allows Justin a glimpse at their faces, and they show panic and great concern.

Justin is far closer than either of them previously thought. Max decides his brother is too close, and another fireball is sent towards him. As before they blow up in illustrious displays of light and sound, but they do offer more time. A few more seconds each. They also force Justin to stop and gather his senses. The dome is faltering; it is about halfway lowered under the twin battering.

The spiraling, whirling mass of a demon she calls a brother is almost at the fire dome. Ice is a derivative of water, it should stop Justin; her eyes brighten with realization. The ice spell is the most powerful of the select few she does know. The tiny spindles of magic touch the elemental and freeze the outermost layers, covering it in frost, but to her astonishment it disappears a second later. Her logic is straight on, although she does not know that elementals may draw on sources of familiar power. When her spell touched the watery layers happily accepted and greeted their brother magic and incorporated it into itself. It allows Justin feels stronger, faster, and overall better, but it lasts for the briefest of moments. The influx of magic rips into his mind like another spike. Once more the elemental shows its displeasure at being confined. He would scream if he could, except instead he is forced to handle the pain in his own private hell.

_So close, so close_! Unable to keep up the fire dome it comes down with a last final roar and flash before vanishing from existence. _Not now. PLEASE NOT NOW! _Justin feels his control slipping. _A FEW MORE SECONDS! NOT NOW! I NEED MORE TIME! _

He uses his last bits of strength, pleading with the elemental to stay for a few more seconds. Finding endurance from some forgotten reserve of energy to make a final rush. Time is measured in milliseconds, moment to painfully moment, step by agony-laced step. There is no second chance. His body can take no more.

Max and Alex forget about the spells they are using, seeing instantly that their last wall is down. All three race for the magic sphere in a mad scramble. There is no time for magic or spells. It is pure instinct, drive and speed. The pair meets at the same moment, one on either side of their now normal, older brother Justin. He is glowing, literally, yellow as the magic once more becomes part of his body. Whatever weariness any of them feel is lost as the implications sink deeply into each of them.

Justin won. Justin _won._

"I… I did it. I'm a full wizard! I'm dreaming. I must be dreaming! Someone tell me I'm dreaming!" Justin stammers, still in disbelief. His brain is racing a million thoughts a second, having trouble comprehending his accomplishment.

"No, you're not dreaming. You're very much awake," a crestfallen Alex says. To prove her point she pinches Justin's shoulder in a move that is harsher than she intends. He yelps and smacks her hand away.

"Alex! What was that for?" Justin frowns as he rubs the sore spot.

"I think she is trying to prove that you're conscious, Justin," Max says. Grinning he mimics his sister and pinches Justin's other shoulder, enjoying the similar exclamation of pain. It was all great fun.

_That was a lot of fun_, the youngest thinks, remembering the battle that just ended between he and his siblings. _Too bad I can't do it again! Of course, I would win then!_

"Congratulations, you're a full wizard now." Max extends his hand to which Justin eagerly accepts, the two shaking before engulfing each other in a hug.

Justin breaking it after a minute and sees the look on Alex's face: a mixture of sadness, regret, and loss. It is obvious she is not taking his win as easily as Max.

"Good for you, Justin," Alex says emotionlessly. "You're the new wizard in the family. I hope –" She is cutoff by the arrival of their father.

"Justin! You did it! You did it! You're the newest wizard!" Jerry talks excitedly. "I can hardly believe it! It seems like just yesterday you were changing bricks into rabbits! I'm so proud of you!" He engulfs Justin in a hug like Max did. Alex stands awestruck, the scowl on her face that she is so admirably concealing finally making its presence known. Jerry stops the hug and turns to Alex and Max.

"I've never been a prouder father then I am now. You both did amazing. And… and the way your handling a life with no powers just proves that you're all the mature, responsible and loving adults that I was hoping you'd all become! I love you all very, very much!" Grinning he turns back to his eldest son. "Now Justin, take us home. I'm sure your mother is looking forward to seeing all of us again." Justin and Max smile. To Alex, though, the words offered as sincere encouragement and a pledge of eternal love for his children feels like sandpaper, rough and abrasive against her heart.

Jerry, with Justin on his right and Max on his left clasps his arms about their shoulders, the trio unable to see cascade of emotions racing across Alex's face as she trails behind them happy to be ignored and forgotten.

* * *

**English Translation of Justin's Elemental Spell**

Element of Water

Sister to Wind

Giver of Life

I invoke your protection

I ask for your strength

To show me the way to victory


	2. Chapter 2: Planning Mirages

**This chapter sets the foundation for a sizable portion of the story and as such may seem a bit out of place, and way off note. I promise everything will come together! Don't believe me? Read on, and if you're still skeptical tell me about it!  
**

**Please review and give me feedback. Check my profile for update status. **

**Thanks again betas xX-Star Sapphire-Xx and FanFicGirl! I couldn't have gotten over the plot hole without your feedback!**

**Chapter 2:**

Two large guards accompany Eglavath to the elaborate, throne room. Both are covered head to foot in coal black mail that save for a small slit of a visor, protects their entire bodies. More sentries stand smartly at attention by every column. Eglavath could likely overpower and destroy all of these heavily armored figures without much effort, but such a disruption is needless. A'Kor'tha, the name given to her Master by her people, has summoned her. Loosely translating to "Respected" or "Revered One" he is a being of great power and influence. She, along with the rest of her followers, judge capable of restoring their former heritage to the prestige it deserves.

Much to Eglavath's surprise she is escorted past the throne room into a much smaller hallway, vacant of the decadence she passed through moment's prior. At the end of the passage is a door and it opens as she approaches leading to yet another room, cavern really, she has never seen or known of its existence. Eglavath enters what A'Kor'tha calls his Planning Room. The guards' duty complete they are silently dismissed, exiting and closing the metal door with a thud. Surrounded on all sides by dense, unyielding black, volcanic rocks there are no windows or openings save for the one door. The interior is surprisingly spacious despite the multitude of chairs surrounding a large, circular table. None of the chairs are occupied and A'Kor'tha is standing over it, looking over maps.

He is wearing a combination of regal blood red and black mail, although the table he is leaned over conceals much of the lower half. He also carries no visible weapons and dons no helm. She correctly surmises that he likely requires neither should he want to end her rather pitiful existence – pitiful by his terms perhaps. Eglavath is rather content with her lot in life. Powerful, hidden enchantments and emblems of protection line the exceedingly ornate and decorated belts of armor. Mail that is far stronger, lighter than the most sophisticatedly refined steel or Kevlar. Tall, darker skinned, his physique, even hidden, is one that bleeds strength, resolution, confidence, and intelligence.

This is a stark contrast to Eglavath. She shares many of the same non-physical characteristics as her Master except rues the concept of clothing. Garments of any sort seems distasteful, foul, utterly contradictory to the point of having carapaces, antennae, teeth and claws. A'Kor'tha, of course, does not share this single-minded view. Nevertheless, he also does not protest or hand down any sort of mandate requiring such articles; his subjects are allowed a degree of freedom after all, even if the mirage hornets do so out of practicality rather than lacking a sense of decency.

Eons past, this is not true. The mirage hornets come from an extended line of ancient and once beautiful creatures. Clothing, rare for the commoner is highly sought and utilized for the military. Their first home, whose name is lost to time, is long since gone. As is the unfortunate way of life, conflict arose, and a terrible many die in the process. Having nothing to lose, they throw themselves selflessly upon their opponents by the hundreds of thousands. The attack is a complete and utter surprise. The multi-prong assault arrives with such ferocity and vengeance that enemy strongholds fall. Victory seems assured, success a mere few battles away.

The final curtain seems to have fallen when a wizened, powerful sorcerer steps from out of the shadows. Many stories have been written about his exploits, recorded for years in myth and rhythm. Having disappeared for so long many, especially given the nature of the war propaganda, doubted his existence. Regardless of the skeptics, it is he who predicted this outcome, making preparations for the eventuality far in advance. The instituted stratagem is quite simple; stall for time. The defenders do this elegantly and die in droves following this plan. As the battlefront collapses and the sheltering fortress itself came under terrific siege, it's much too late. The ceremony, under the best of circumstances, requires nearly three days of preparation. Five days later, it is complete. By then the multiple keeps and external buttresses had been penetrated, fighting taking place in the halls and spiral stairwells. The attackers efforts come too late. The ritual demands the sorcerer's vital energy as a price, costing him his life. Making the most of his last dying breath he casts, not merely the invaders, but the entire species, into the deep abyss.

The Great Exile, as the appalling event becomes known, marks the start of many transitions for the race. Thrown into the horrors of the underworld, sealed off from all they once knew and cherish, the potent energies twist and metamorphosed the gorgeous animals. More time passes and still more evolutions occur. Where twin horns grow antennae sprout. Long, soft fur sheds and the skin hardens. Poised spines curve and bend inward; the vertebrae elongate, extending to make complete rings to form the abdomen. Graceful and stunning tails, once the pride of the species turns into a horrible device of pain and anguish. Straightening into a retractable, needle-like instrument. Overactive venom sacks residing deep inside the stomach provide a constant and ready supply of dangerous poison to be used at any whim. By coincidence they vaguely resemble the considerably smaller and far milder Earth-bound cousins.

Lacking a home they soon encounter some of the more grotesque, and unbeknownst to them, quite useless monsters. Not knowing any better they form impromptu alliances that lead to disaster after disaster.

Another decade passes and now calling themselves _mirage hornets_, make use of costly, hard won, brutal lessons. The new queen, Eglavath comes forward as a highly competent, fair leader. She is introduced to their current Master, who, unlike the former, is as smart, able-minded as he is imaginative and diabolically efficient. He has no trouble identifying and sympathizing with the poor hornets. Furthermore he offers them a permanent new home, security and a place in life all for the marginal price of eternal loyalty. Eglavath, having nothing left to lose readily agrees to the few, if astringently binding provisos.

Until that time, they may have been dwellers on the ground and amongst the trees, but after the transformation the hornets quickly discover the many benefits of residing below and out of sight. The subterranean, plentiful, solid cliff faces overshadowing A'Kor'tha 's realm are unpopulated, everywhere and perfect. Great mandibles, diamond hard, and razor sharp claws allow the hornets to easily rend solid rock and dirt. Saliva, dangerous as it is sticky, allows for the creation of elaborate and extensive hexagonal caverns. For the beginning in many years, the population increases substantially, the news spreading quickly, praising of both Eglavath, and their supreme ruler. Having seen that their newfound Master is not the same as the charlatans they were serving previously he is christened as A'Kor'tha, considered not merely a king but a god.

Able to fly, agile, fast, and capable of using the Wizard Portals without becoming lost or worse; their Master, having been on the lookout for new reconnaissance scouts, quickly ascertains the mirage hornets are wonderfully suited to the task. Not being considered useless or slaves, they take to the assigned job with a voracity that is unmatched.

The hornets have three attributes that individually make them sub-par at best; above average intelligence, great memory and being able to conceal themselves for long periods of time using their near perfect camouflage. Together, however, the cleverness sets them apart ensuring they are the premier, most elite, dependable group when it comes to gathering, or much to their glee, stealing information. Having no pesky standards, irritating ethics, relying on nothing save their own devices, bodies, and Master's instructions, they are extremely good at what they do.

Despite this, assigned missions are few and far between. Regardless, when A'Kor'tha calls for Eglavath, the request is one she cannot ignore. To him the internal affairs of a budding civilization being placed on hold are of no consequence. Expectations such as this are why in spite of Eglavath being a substantial ruler, is prostrating herself before A'Kor'tha. He is her king and god after all.

"Greetings, Your Highness. I am surprised and most honored that you sent me such a gracious gift. Before I had him prepared for the rod and spit he stated you requested my presence," Eglavath says. The aforementioned present is a former lieutenant of A'Kor'tha, the poor fool had the audacity to make a fool of his sovereign. "I heed your summons. I live for the chance to serve," she remaining as she is, front legs and head bowed in respect.

"But of course. Rise," A'Kor'tha ignores the creature before him and continues to look at the documents in front of him. "Approach. I possess special need of your services."

In truth, it is not Eglavath's service he requires but that of a select few of her minions. Out of a rare display of respect for her admirable skills as a person in charge, he is officially seeking her permission. Of course, this is a mere formality, a notion that Eglavath immediately realizes.

Eglavath moves to the table, standing across from him to look down at its surface. The normally clean, polished wood is littered with a variety of parchment maps. They are all of varying ages. Some are quite obviously very old while others aren't so, as they are still unblemished, white and pale.

"Yes, Lord. However I may serve you, it will be done," says Eglavath, A'Kor'tha taking a chair across the table. He gestures, an offer for her to take a seat and she politely rejects. The wings, thorax and especially stinger does not allow for comfortable sitting unless the furniture is of a special design.

A'Kor'tha understands, "This may be of interest to you. Observe closely," he says before grasping a particular map. It is aged, faded, wrinkled like the others. Eglavath looks over the document, eyes widening in surprise. He notices and chuckles in amusement. "I see you have some familiarity with its contents. You clearly are not an average idiot. I am pleased," the knowing smirk never vacating his face.

"Forgive me, Sire, but is this real?" Eglavath is hardly able to believe her multiple eyes, wings fluttering in excitement. _I was under the impression that all records such as these were destroyed. _On the wood-bark parchment is the geographic outline, perfect down to the last troop deployments. The document is either original or an identical match that allowed her people to obtain conquest so many years ago. Of course, this is before the mortal battle leading to the Great Exile.

"Do you assume me to be one who would falsify an article such as this?" His voice remains the same tone although it contains a subtle hint of annoyance. _Why must these fools continue to question me? _Eglavath is about to respond when A'Kor'tha speaks first. "I am merciful. Do not question the validity again."

"Of course A'Kor'tha." Eglavath is thoroughly scared and bows for good measure, holding the posture for a second before rising. The threat, gathered more from hostile vocal tones and body language is clearly heard. She might be favored; however no person is irreplaceable in his eyes. "Sire, yes I do remember. Prior to the Great Exile we had celebrated our triumph."

A'Kor'tha's expressions soften after noticing that Eglavath is mostly unfazed by his tyrant. _Impressive. Perhaps I underestimated this one. Perchance it is an act. If so, I have not offered enough credit._ He takes the map and rotates it slightly before placing it aside. "As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted, much has changed since you and I walked the land. Before I digress into details would you care for a drink?"

"Please sire," Elgavath replies. For the rare instances that she has been allowed to partake with her Master, she knows that the drink of choice is Crimson Black, a truly magnificent substance. Much to her regret, it's terribly hard to make. The materials, distilling and refining are all time consuming and prohibitively expensive. Even she may acquire the brew on a rather infrequent basis. Of course, for A'Kor'tha, price and time matters not. What he wants, he gets. _Such are the differences between a ruler and a god. Lucky him. _She muses_._

By some unseen gesture two identical servants wearing the same robes enter. The chamber is quiet save for the pouring of a reddish liquid into a cut crystal, black gold infused goblet. A similar glass is placed in front of Eglavath. Maintaining a cheerful expression, she accepts the chalice gratefully. Out of respect she waits before A'Kor'tha takes the first swallow before sipping at the concoction, almost moaning at the pungent, sweet taste. _I must discover the supplier A'Kor'tha uses. This is spectacular! _

A'Kor'tha apparently agrees too from the way his eyes roll back into his head. "Ah, that aged beautifully." Eglavath speedily nods, no disagreements at all! A'Kor'tha, his face brightening turns again to the documents littered on the table.

"As I was saying, much has changed. For starters, the _wretched_ humans populate the land." A'Kor'tha's displeasure is palpable. Eglavath concurs, save for she refuses to allow the wonderful brew to rise upwards, wasted upon a table. Humans, while a very minor power leading up to the Great Exile, remain quite hated among her followers. A human, after all, did perform the ceremony that caused victory and their home to be so cruelly taken away.

"Do you mean to tell me that," Eglavath swallows down the bile in her throat again, "the species… endured?"

A'Kor'tha nods solemnly. "Indeed. Worse the pests seem to have not survived, but _thrived._ I should mention in addition to somehow avoiding eradication they are becoming unfortunately crafty. Superior species like us cannot venture in the open as they once did. Instead they live miserably in the shadows, the nooks and cranny's of a once great civilization, discarded and treated in a manner that even their putrid wastes are envied." A'Kor'tha's words are filled with contempt and spite. As Eglavath listens she too feels the same raising emotions.

"Sire, forgive me, how is this possible?" Eglavath is curious as much as she is horrified. The last time she encountered the two-legged rodents they were nothing more then a great inconvenience. _If only we had known what we know now, history would have differed. That sorcerer would be dead._

He takes another sip of Crimson Black, lips becoming stained by its color. "That answer is rather complex. No doubt that subject is one that will continue to be debated among our academias for another millennia. The harsh truth is we underestimated their capabilities. The retched upstarts are more imaginative than I ever dreamed. In the span of what we consider short, they have evolved from animal-skinned wearing savages to large, orderly, _civilized_ communities. Infighting, while it does exist, is far more common against outsiders. Naturally curious, suspicious of change this turned into a fatal combination. We were eventually forced into hiding.

"After your… Exile… as you so eloquently put it, the fiends conceived of a new structure. I believe it is called a castle or keep. In fact the design is quite similar to the architecture used to build my home. Strong, efficient, effective, the ruling elite could not be manipulated or threatened into doing our bidding as they once were. Such a shame the peddling fools did not cherish coin or spice as they once do." He is surprisingly calm for one describing complete withdrawal from his place of origin.

"Surely you do not mean to tell me that those… humans… overpowered us using nothing but a few twigs, stone and mortar? And that they have immunity of greed?" replies Eglavath. Even improved creatures such as herself and Master may be swayed – if the price and cause is right. To openly suggest that a species does not practice a common, long-standing tradition is a shock. Admittedly, it would reinforce the backwards and confusing manner in how humans live day to day.

A'Kor'tha laughs. "Certainly not. A substantial fraction continues to live far beneath their means. That, for the life of me I cannot comprehend, try dutifully to extend their pitiful existence from the hovels they call a home. What I am suggesting is bribes are becoming much more difficult to successfully obtain." He shakes his head in disbelief. The pure notion of purposely ignoring the needs of another for effortless gain is absurd. That, while the routine is not unheard of is singular enough in his realm to be considered an extinct practice. Even the most worthless in the social order have their appropriate lot in life. Whether cleaning refuge, or providing entertainment in the blood soaked arenas, each serves a strict purpose. After all, no decrees are present saying such a function guarantees happiness, or even allows for old age.

"In any case, as I mentioned previously, the creatures are quite adept at building ever more ingenious methods of destruction." He notices the look Eglavath offers as a counter before she even opens her mouth. "Yes, of course. How could such savages, regardless of their ingenuity ever challenge beings such as we?"

The question is rhetorical and Eglavath maintains her silence. Once a scholar of history she finds all of this most informative, and downright thrilling.

The seriousness in his voice returns, "The unpleasant truth is that by that time we had grown complacent. They were at work and busy. We were relaxed and lazy. When our eyes opened to the growing danger the damage was done. The land and water was no longer ours. I choose, rather smartly I later discovered, along with my minions to retreat from the wretched world. Those that did otherwise were systematically sought out, destroyed in the many monster and witch-hunts."

"Your Highness, you had to have left many years ago. If those beings are as adaptable as you say then such change is unlikely to stop. If you… we, could not live or move in peace why should such tasks be allowed by the humans nowadays?"

"Ahh. But that is the irony of the situation." A'Kor'tha once more rests his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers together before setting his chin upon it. "You seem to have a knack for understanding intricacies, I am glad. You, once again, are correct. We are not. Much the contrary, we are feared, despised and sought out as never before. In fact, the humans have even dedicated special training regimes to continue to keep us in the holes they believe we crawl out of. Except that is part of the fun!"

A'Kor'tha continues to smile as Eglavath frowns. This is making less and less sense. Carefully she phrases her statement, hoping she is wrong. "Your Lordship, am I to assume that me being summoned here is somehow related to these humans?"

"You are very wise, and completely right." A'Kor'tha's eyes sparkle with mirth, a trait Eglavath finds reassuring. To him it is a simple but great pleasure to maintain conversation with someone not a useless cretin, doomed to 'Yes Sir' or 'No Sir' until his or her tongue falls out from boredom or disuse. "I want you to observe the humans. Do not interfere in their misdeeds."

Eglavath isn't entirely certain why she hates the bastards. The detestation goes beyond a straightforward, horrific bout of sorcery. She simply knows she does, and with a fiery vengeance that seethes and struggles deep within her heart. If revenge is possible, she won't be one to not pursue the opportunity. Unbeknownst to her, A'Kor'tha is fully aware of this hidden secret. This is, in fact, why she is in front of him to start with.

A'Kor'tha reaches to the left sorting through several pieces of parchment before grabbing one of the misplaced maps. This particular document is noticeably aged more than the rest. In addition to being brown rather than sickly yellow a myriad of stains adorn its surface. The selection is a perverse choice of colors, heavily faded red, green and blue that offer no clues as to the original cause.

Eglavath moves to better look at the chart. She is able to ascertain that as well as being old the map appears to be hand drawn. From the occasional stray shallow scratch or marks likely from the tip of a quill or claw. The alert intellect does not miss the detail that records like the one on the table are exceedingly rare. In the unique circumstances one is revealed it is under the most guarded of places and returned to the sheltered archives as judiciously as possible. Eglavath isn't sure whether to be honored or shocked.

As if reading her mind, that for all she knows he very well may be, A'Kor'tha responds. "Yes, you should feel flattered. A select, personalized few have laid eyes on what lies on the table." A'Kor'tha smiles deviously. "Regrettably many of them are no longer among the walking." _You won't either should any harm come to them._

Eglavath resists the urge to shiver as the chill races along her abdomen. The comment is an explicit warning, not merely a threat it is a sincere promise should she perform unsatisfactorily. If A'Kor'tha saw any signs that she is nervous, he does not present any noticeable indications. His jaw and posture remain strong, tight, and unflinching.

"Sire, according to this you wish me to send scouts to a… swamp?" Eglavath does not comprehend his motive. It seems quite unreasonable. Why bother? The more foul, tainted and repulsive the water the better; it would become a paradise, an oasis in the middle of an alien dessert.

"A swamp it was when the planet is in its infancy and we roam freely. This is considerably older than yet the time you refer to as the Great Exile. Furthermore, a city is rather more fitting than the title of a swamp." Eglavath continues to scan the map as he talks, listening with intense interest. Some of the features are even recognizable. "The abundance of land with the availability of nearby resources made it a natural center of commerce, as you may see from the blueprints in front of you. Though I would not waste your time committing any of those monotonous scratches and faded lines to memory.

"The chart you are so diligently attempting to recollect at a future time is thoroughly outdated." Eglavath offers him a stare betraying confusion. Once more bringing a superior grin to A'Kor'tha, hands going through another stack before pulling out an alternative large sheet of paper.

She grasps the edge of it in a claw, peering intently at the various colored scribbles, dotted, and dashed lines. Elements of the document are familiar, though all of the obvious landmarks and terrain is gone. The upper right hand corner has a logo of an unrecognizable origin; blue, the wording white, authored in a strange, unfamiliar language reading "Rand McNally". If she had eyebrows she would have scrunched them in puzzlement.

A'Kor'tha chuckles again knowingly. "That map is recent, produced within the year. Collected at grand risk and immeasurable expense. As you may clearly observe, much has changed since you last ventured above." He interlaces his fingers, resting both elbows on the table as he gazes at Eglavath. "I want you to monitor, scrutinize, study. Avoid the humans. They shall be dealt with soon enough."

"Of course sire. Your orders will be done." Eglavath replies carefully, pondering the strange symbols and geography. The map is criss-crossed by organized lines to create a land divided by small rectangles with the occasional concession of jaggedness to a body of water. What appears to be an island is sandwiched between rivers. A myriad of lettering and symbols is smattered chaotically about the squiggles, and squares in a manner that she cannot hope to decipher there meaning.

"The chart you are scrutinizing is of a city called New York." A'Kor'tha says. "The city belongs to an empire humans refer to as the United States or America. They have built megalopolises such as this one by the hundreds. Somewhere in that city is a gemstone, a very ancient and powerful gemstone. The puny mortals pretending to understand the power contained therein believe it's ethereal. In the local tongue, humans refer to the jewel as the Stone of Dreams. This must be retrieved."

"Stone of Dreams…the legends…?" Eglavath breathes out the words carefully. Even the lowest in society are aware of the myths surrounding the mysterious item. Depending on the tale chosen some say it shows the path to immortality. Others grand fame, wealth, power. Some believe the force is inherently negative, a curse that upon being released will plunge the Earth into Armageddon.

A'Kor'tha smiles, he expected such a reaction. "The fables are not entirely exaggerations. They are not complete fabrications either." Eglavath nods unsatisfied realizing that this is the best response she is going to get. "I will tell you this much. Do not be misconstrued by the deceit you are likely to hear about the stones' origin. Human hands did not make it."

"Who sir, did?" Eglavath asks.

"Not even I know this. A pity I realize. Of course, if you discover the answer you are to tell me, immediately." A'Kor'tha says, to that she nods in agreement. "I offer you a clue to its whereabouts. Some years ago a girl named Alex Russo defied the odds and found the Stone of Dreams. She accomplished this feat on a far off island humans refer to as Puerto Rico. How a wisp of a girl managed to do so is beyond me." A'Kor'tha shakes his head in disbelief. "And frankly, does not matter."

He turns to another pile of papers, picking up one that lies on top, handing it to Eglavath. Attached to a Waverly Substation Takeout menu is a wrinkled photograph is of a smiling, dark haired teenager whom Eglavath assumes is the one referred to as Alex. "She was last spotted returning to a sandwich shop in the southern region of New York. This information, of course, is likely outdated. Make use of it, but don't think it is reliable."

Eglavath is more confounded by the article in her claws. The sole recognizable part of the menu is the small map offering directions. This is identifiable only because it looks so similar to the much larger one already spread out on the table. Turning the document this way and that she tries to make sense of the strange wording. "Sire, I do not understand. Is this a subway shop or a subway stop? What is a sandwich?"

The look of incredulity on A'Kor'tha's face is one that leaves Eglavath wondering whether she is justified in asking, or whether she should fear for her life. A'Kor'tha himself isn't sure what to think either. His mouth opening and closing a few times before an audible answer actually escapes.

"How should I know? That is none of my concern." The agitation filling his voice causes Eglavath to shrink back, suddenly regretting the question before his voice returns to a more normal level. "I. Want. Her. Found. Such details about her whereabouts are your concern not mine!"

He stops, taking in a deep breath before continuing in a more peaceful, yet serious manner. "You understand surely there maybe… others who have ulterior motives. I would not like this left to chance."

"Eglavath carefully thinks for a moment before reply. "In the event of the impossibility of capture, she is to be killed sire?"

"Yes, immediately. One other important matter remains. The whore of a daughter that I love _so_ much seems to have wandered off. She is to be found and returned, by force if necessary. She might be a big girl, but I cannot have her meddling in my affairs again. _NOT_ after last time." He grins, before sitting back in the chair, looking quite relaxed. "These are the primary targets. Secondary objectives include… You are to select your best scouts… This is a time sensitive operation… of the utmost priority that coordination be sustained…"

The remainder of the mission briefing goes quickly, ending with A'Kor'tha asking to personally inspect the investigators she is sending out. The request comes as a thorough surprising, startling her.

_He demands an answer immediately? First time for everything I suppose. _Eglavath stays silent, thinking for a moment. Of the huge catalog of servants and soldiers under her command, very few meet the criteria. Of those, even fewer could maintain the pace and stress such an operation is likely to invoke. The choice is obvious.

"I know of the right scouts for the job. If I may?" A'Kor'tha nods at her. Having permission she beckons a messenger to her side. Minutes pass as she takes the blank piece of parchment and scribbles brief instructions. At its completion the messenger bows, first to Eglavath, and then A'Kor'tha before rushing out of the room.

A'Kor'tha could care less what the ridiculous messenger does as long as it gets the poor fool out of his sight sooner. Nothing is as insulting as incompetence. In his eyes if you are a lowly bringer of pieces of paper, then your life might as well be forfeit. After all, if one may not stride to be something more useful, how may you, or even why should you, be tasked with jobs of more importance. In spite of this, A'Kor'tha cannot deny the usefulness, regardless of the drains on his society that they may represent. Far too few are gifted, such as him, or Eglavath. Yes, even she is talented enough to be allowed such praise. Too bad the thoughts never escape his head.

A'Kor'tha and Eglavath make conversation about the mundane and useless until Eglavath's chosen ones are standing in front of the intimidating pair. A'Kor'tha peers up at the hornets, eyes brightening as he recognizes the squad. All of them have toiled on personalized assignments for him. By his recollection they are very bright, improvise on their feet, and are generally the best available. An added bonus is each has seen combat numerous occasions. Although not expected it's always best to be prepared.

Eglvath in spite of being nervous is holding herself well. The attempt at concealment fails; A'Kor'tha realizes that the gravity of her choices is weighing heavily upon her mind. After all, disappointment would be… well, disappointing. That he cannot fault, the dread, difficultdecisions quickly being made out of fear and respect for him. Punishment, even, to one whom is so favored, would not be handed out easily. Fortunately, or perhaps it is luckily, he isn't able to find liabilities in her choices. Once again reaffirming why Elgavath is at such a trusted status.

Recollections of all the hornets' previous endeavors emerge from the recesses of his mind. _Smart. These are not the buffoons I was expecting. They might just succeed. Live, well, that's irrelevant._A'Kor'tha smiles widely. _Soon. A bit more patience and the era of humans will be finished. Prodigium of Donum Rex rgis __**will **__reopen. I will make it so._

* * *

**English Translation of City Name**

Port of Gifted Kings


	3. Chapter 3: Return to the Past

**Disclaimer: There is a bit of discrepancy regarding the character of Nimue. Depending on the source(s) Nimue also has over a dozen different names. She also has a degree of varying relationships to the legendary wizard or sage known as Merlin. While Nimue my not be an original character in the strictest sense the interpretation contained therein is of my creation using the various stories and myths about her as a foundation for her background. Due to the number of resources available and often-conflicting life events and details I cannot offer specific references.**

**If you like this chapter please, please, please review and give me feedback. Check my profile for update status. **

**Beta's xX-Star Sapphire-Xx and FanFicGirl thanks so much for the suggestions and encouragement!**

**Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of violent battle.**

**Chapter 3: Return to the Past**

Alex wakens with a scream, sitting upright on her bed, jolted, highly perturbed. Panting heavily she gasps for air, shivering. Every bone and muscle cries with terrible aches. She has an incredible headache too. Worse, she feels nauseous, stomach violently rebelling; reaching such a crescendo that she is forced to abandon bed. On trembling legs barely makes it to the adjoining bathroom before the remains of dinner return. Twice more her stomach churns and heaves, leaving an already weary Alex, disheveled and feeling miserable.

Standing she goes over to the sink, turning on the cold water. Using the cup conveniently placed for such a purpose hints that such an occurrence is not rare, she rinses out her mouth before brushing her teeth. She is quite pleased to have ridded herself of the vile taste of horror and acid. Using both hands she splashes some of the cool, refreshing liquid on to her face. The reflection in the mirror looks back at her with sympathy. Her eyes are red, eyelids dark, dropping, and the expression planted on her face is one that has noticeably enjoyed far more pleasant slumber. Something she is quite eager to return too, regardless of the protests her brain has on the subject.

Within minutes of her head burrowing underneath the pillow Alex is asleep only to be cruelly interrupted by the ring of her cell phone. Normally she would have ignored the phone. Everyone who knows Alex quickly discovers her love of slumber. Save for physical force few arguments have any such impact on her ideas about the importance of beauty sleep, especially hers. Too bad she, along with her head, mistakenly placed the cursed piece of technology near her ear. The ring tone and voice mail too does not help since the ringing happens to be quite loud. Worse yet, the voice message will not activate until the tenth ring or so due to situations just like this one.

Alex, doing what any very groggy and not thinking person would do, answers it. "Yeah, talk," she yawns. _Whoever this is better be dying._

"No way! It is not!" cries Alex indignantly, frustration buildings as she starts to waken, rather rapidly at that. _I did __**not**__ sleep that long!_

"There is no way in hell I did!" She throws the pillow to the side looking around for the happy green glow of her alarm clock. In large neon it reads 7:16PM. She makes a mental note to replace the malfunctioning timepiece. Something isn't right when a few minutes suddenly turn into several hours.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there," ending the call before tossing the phone on to the side table and rubbing her eyes. _I really have to stop meeting people at random times. I don't know why I try to sleep. I never seem to get more than an hour or two. What a jip! _She laments. _Short nap my ass._

Alex stays in bed for a couple of long minutes, simply enjoying the warmth before stretching again, pulling off the covers and reluctantly rolling off the bed. If she didn't hurry she would miss out on all the fun, not to mention forever end up being harassed. Already her sleeping habits have seen her on the receiving end of more than one joke, several happening to be practical. She isn't sure whether she could take another. This alone offers plenty of incentive to hurry. A fate that is rather unheard of for Alex, especially when it comes to a shower, hair and clothing.

Tonight she's wearing black boots, skirt, tank top, and fingerless gloves. For good measure she wears a light, open-zippered sweatshirt with the hood down. The barest touch of makeup, just enough to hid whatever remnants there are of her not forgotten nap, leaves her feeling content, pleased with the transformation from sleeping mode. The final item she grabs is cash, credit card, and the most important item, fake identification.

She figures out how to make rather convincing ones at sixteen. The first attempt is pathetic, not even worthy of being considered a failure. Made of construction paper and with a picture cut out from a magazine she tries getting into an R rated movie. Perhaps it was the paper. Maybe it was the glossy, glued-on, non-matching picture. Conceivably the listed age being 40 might have been a subject of controversy since it definitely is not a match for a teen girl. Foresight is a trait that she never is good at utilizing, nonetheless she works on perfecting the craft until she is able to produce flawless pieces of plastic and as much alcohol as she wants (or could afford). The true beauty she discovers much later.

Now twenty-two she has no reason or need to conceal her age to get liquor. No, the reason is a great deal more devious. When making your own identification it becomes quite easy to assume a new alias. Ordinarily she wouldn't have even conceived such a notion. This comes about through a favor for a friend. Despite her ability and desire for the personal change she refrains. That is, until after the competition. Early on she finds that disappearing in addition to using the same moniker is significantly more reckless and counter-productive than even not changing ones' appearance. After much trial and error she finds, if there is such a thing, middle ground.

As trying as the name change might have been, finding a new wardrobe is considerably more so. As in the previous situation she eventually decides on a combination of clothing that she formerly enjoys – mostly jeans, tank tops, converse high tops, sneakers and the like; with a smattering of dresses, skirts, even high heels and the occasional stilettos to keep options open. To further her new persona is growing her strict just-above-the-neck-and-curly-length dark brown hair to straight, below the shoulders. The final touch is carefully applied makeup and the rare touches of eyeliner or mascara.

Tonight when she is carded at the door to The _Broken Talisman_ the name on her license reads Alexandra Williams, age 23. The simple success of getting into the club is really the only incentive she has to celebrate. If one could call drinking in a shady bar in a questionable section of town a party. Although she need not worry about being recognized Alex consciously wears clothing that allows her blend in. The sweatshirt, now zipped up to just-below-the-neck, serves a much more simple function: warmth. Long ago having discovered that while the drinks are excellent the climate control inside leaves much to be desired.

The music here is also tolerable, decent even. The band playing tonight is no exception from the norm. Not a new comer to this particular location Alex enters, sitting on one of the stools to the bar. She uses the fake identification to order a beer, sipping at it rapidly. Her gaze is focused on the performers. Pretending to be interested in watching as five bare-chested men strum guitar strings, hit drums and cymbals, and sing their voices out to a mostly apathetic crowd. With the energy they are giving off being non-existent Alex finds her attention is wondering, meandering between past memories like a lost mountain stream trying to make its way downhill. There is no path or destination in mind and quickly, despite her attempts to not she begins to reminisce.

Her gaze returns to the band and its instruments. She remembers when Justin on the electric guitar, she on drums, sings, performing their heart and soul. Justin the nerd that he is, spontaneously labeling them as _Alabaster Carnation_ much to her protest and amusement. Alex smiles in fond memory, even if Max did ruin the moment by conjuring the entire audience. In her book it is still a touching, awesome moment. Of all the people she misses the most; Justin is at the top of her list. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever suspect that the two - three if Max is included - five if her parents, would be broken apart like they did.

Despite all their particularities the duo, and often trio, is always able to resolve whatever problems they have. One of the highlights of her life and best examples of this is when their father, Jerry Russo, his brother - Kelbo Russo – their uncle, and sister – Megan Russo – their aunt, are required to retake the Wizard's Test. Due to a long standing feud between the brothers versus their sister, Aunt Megan adamantly refuses. Threatened with the permanent loss of their Wizard Power's Alex, with the assistance and co-operation of her brother's manage to avert this by choosing family over their magic. So impressed is the Wizard examiner, this being the first (and likely) only time he is to see such a moment he allows them to keep their powers. Unfortunately such integrity and unity becomes strained, pushed then pulled to the breaking point leading up to the Wizard Competition.

That painful, terrible, horrible day is forever seared into her brain. She remembers the way Justin looks at her, the intense cocktail of pain, regret and loss crossing his features. Not because he is in physical pain but because he has and is hurting someone he truly loves and cares about. Alex instead of responding to his cries turns away, tears streaming down her face. Not only does she ignore Justin but the shouts and rush of movement towards her by Max and her mother. Ignoring the footsteps behind her instead she runs - flees from everything that has caused so much anguish as well as frustration. Alex, jaded, upset and angry, runs through the Wizard Portal and effectively out of Justin, Max, and her parent's life as it closes behind her.

That is nearly two years ago. Despite the length of time having gone by she makes no effort to contact or visit anyone in her family. She sees the rift she created as unbridgeable. Cowardly, possibly, but the trouble-free, brutal truth is that it's easier to move on and forget. Why bother mending the un-mendable, repair the un-repairable? A small part of her brain screams at the indignation of effectively shutting out her family. However, her stubborn, headstrong nature in conjunction with her feelings doesn't ever allow this second-guessing to make even the slightest of headway in the way of resolution.

Absorbed in her thoughts Alex is startled, jerking a bit in her seat when a hand not her own touches her shoulder. Recognition flashes into Alex's mind. Although she is a bit taken back at what the girl is wearing. Aside from the black boots she's dressed in a tight dress, just shy of being called skin-tight. The clingy fabric hugs the Asian girl, accenting her curves in all the right places. Alex's already tall, beautiful friend seeming to be that much more; it hard not to compare the flawless, skin, accented in a complimentary manner to her oppositely colored attire. Silk soft light, brown hair identically frames her almond shaped eyes, and like everything else on the girl, Alex thinks is perfect; a beautiful liquid coffee that is usually caring and tender.

Nonetheless, Alex knows from experience that the calm, tranquil orbs may turn violent and fierce as the worst of any storms should she have reason to be pushed or angered past her considerable limits. Normally when Alex is around, much less speaks, to people such as her, Alex feels considerably outclassed. Aware of Alex's misgivings, Stevie, from the very beginning when the two met long ago in school, refuses to accept or allow Alex the privilege or opportunity even to wallow in self-pity, and self-destructive image comparison. This is a trait that continues, flourishes, despite all the hostility leading up to Stevie failing in her plan to forever destroy the Wizard Competition. It is a ploy that Alex, single-handed foils, leaving Stevie in pieces, literally, on the floor of the Power Transfer Chamber in the Wizard City Hall.

Alex must have been staring or lost in thought because the hand once again taps her shoulder for attention before gesturing to a booth further in the back. Nodding she gets up and follows leaving the now empty beer glass. Whatever happened in the past seems to have stayed there, because Alex happily sits opposite her companion on a comfortable padded bench.

Away from the worst of the noise Alex speaks first, "Steve! If I told you once I've told you a million times! Don't startle me like that!" Alex says in exasperation, glaring at her friend.

"Common Alex, stop the bad girl attitude," grins Stevie. "You needed it," she resists the urge to giggle. Every chance to exploit a dislike of Alex's' must be taken. "You were losing yourself to the music."

Alex rolls her eyes knowingly, "It's kind of hard to do that. These guys aren't-"

"Don't give me that load of shit," interrupts Stevie. "You were checking those fat slobs out! How could you? You're so out of their league." Stevie is all smiles, Alex cringing as she hones in on the subject, "I didn't know you were so desperate."

Noticing the change in expression Stevie pries further enjoying the look of annoyance, "You must need a boy toy B.A.D." Every single letter is carefully accented for maximum delivery.

Alex laughs. She walked into this verbal barrage knowingly, "Steve?"

Alex?"

"You know," Alex's eyes are full of amusement and Stevie's return it. "Its nights like these I remember that you're a bitch." Stevie smiles again. "Speaking of which, where is your toy boy?

_Toy Boy? Oh she is ssoo asking for it! _Stevie is about to reply when a waiter stops at their table. Before either he or Alex may respond she beats them both digging into her purse for a moment for several bills.

"Two Sam Adams, bottles," he nods and takes the offered money. "The rest is yours if you make it speedy," Stevie turns back to Alex, as if reading the other girl's mind.

"Don't start. No more of that watered down crap." Alex opens her mouth only to be stopped by a finger to her lips, "No excuses! It's about time you start drinking something with real bite."

The finger is removed; "But-" Alex tries again only to be cut off once more by a touch to her lips. _Stupid. Stubborn. Stevie!_

Stevie frowns, "But nothing. And stop whining." Stevie gives Alex a menacing glare to prevent any more protest. Alex knows the look well and gives up.

"I'm paying. The least you can do is sit back and enjoy."

Alex shakes her head slightly forgetting just how pushy Stevie may get at times, "Alright, you win this round." _Didn't have to be so pushy though!_ She smiles knowing that Stevie, had she refused, would have poked, prodded, pushed and persuaded Alex in a verbal contest. The other option is worse; Alex would have been dragged to the dance floor. At the moment she doesn't have energy or will to conjure a lie. A fib that Stevie would see through presenting more incentive for her to convince Alex that dancing is highly preferable to the other alternatives, alternatives that would inevitably, lead to the same conclusion, and probably a very red, sore behind.

Alex doesn't truly mind. She learned long ago that Stevie only did that – carry-protesting friends to places they would rather not go - to those she cares about. Given though, her techniques might be a bit rough around the edges, but after all she wouldn't be Stevie if she didn't.

The waiter returns surprisingly quickly with two chilled bottles. Stevie waves him off with thanks. Using the provided opener both girls take several swallows of the amber liquid. Alex's eyes widen in surprise. She had forgotten how this particular brand tastes. Although she would never admit it to Stevie it sure beats her usual. Michelangelo Light really is crap. The smirk on Stevie's face informs Alex that her attempt at concealment clearly fails, she knows. Alex glares and narrows her eyes as convincingly as she can in response. Stevie makes a face, raising an eyebrow questioningly. Alex's grin grows in size until Stevie sticks out her tongue for a moment, shattering the silence with a giggle. Alex, determined not to give in to the ploy valiantly holds out for a few seconds until she joins in. The two friends fall into a fit of refreshing laughter that ends with both gasping for breath.

Stevie is the first to recover. She finishes the remainder of the Sam Adam's with a few gulps. "So, Alex," she pauses. Alex feels a chill run through her. Usually when she pauses like that it means a serious question is about to follow. "How about telling me what brought you here?"

Alex laughs. "You said we were meeting up here. Your idea?" For dramatic effect she raps her knuckles against the top of Stevie's head in a 'knock-knock' motion, causing both to giggle once more.

"My idea?" Stevie feigns astonishment. "Why Alex, I would never ever do such a thing!"

"Yes your idea. You called me." Alex rolls her eyes. _Why do we pick the dumbest things to argue over? _"Just so we are clear. You," she points at Stevie, "called," uses her thumb and pinkie to make the gesture of a phone by her ear, "me," she points at herself.

That is the last straw for Stevie and she breaks out laughing. Alex is being too ridiculous.

_Such a silly girl! _Alex joins her soon thereafter, until the pain in her sides makes her stop. Stevie regains her composure much more quickly.

"Lex, please, I didn't call you," the manifestation on Stevie's face, cold brown eyes and set jaw, is one that leaves no debate.

"What do you mean? How could you not call me? Of course you called me!" Alex is confused and becoming angry quickly. Lying after all is a rather serious offense.

_Did I fucking stutter? Give me a break Alex, you heard me. Don't pull this shit. _Stevie is becoming irritated, but is able to keep it from showing on her tranquil features. "Lex, listen to me carefully," she pauses. "I. Did. Not. Call. You."

"Prove it!"

The predictable response causes Stevie to exhale noisily at this before picking up her phone. She runs a thumb down and over its glossy display, tapping a few times when needed before turning the device so Alex may see the screen.

**555-4319 Thursday, 1:53PM **

_**Let's head to the broken bar Fri. Call 2morrow with the deets.**_

Alex stares dumbfounded, reading the message once more and then again to triple check. The text was made yesterday. Grabbing her phone she looks up the 'Call Out' record. Sure enough Stevie's number is there too. She doesn't even remember making that text! Could she have really? The answer in front of her face, obviously she did. No sense in continuing denial.

"I'm… I'm so sorry," Alex is hurt, and not only for pissing off Stevie. How could she forget something like this? She never has before. "I really don't remember doing that."

Stevie, on the other hand, does not seem to care. She waves Alex of dismissively, grasping Alex's nearest hand supportively. "Hey, don't worry about it. Happens to everyone. Knowing you, you probably did it from in bed and more asleep than awake."

Stevie smiles glad to see her friend grin, before pouting as a playful fist connects with her shoulder. "Damnit! Alex, did you really have to hit me so hard? That's gonna bruise!"

"Serves you right. I feel bad and you go for the low blow!" Alex gripes, satisfied they are even.

"Stop whining. You know it comes with the package. Can't love just one part of me you know," she replies with a wink, another swallow of beer following. "So…

Fire in Alex's eyes ignites for a fraction of second before fading again. Stevie's maintains a straight face, the subtle wave of emotion on her friend's face not missed.

_Shit. Busted._ Stevie might be an expert at concealing facial movements, but being too practiced is just as much a giveaway. This is one of those times. Under any other circumstance she would have come up with a lie and dealt with the situation like that. Unfortunately, from experience, she realizes that she doesn't have the luxury of time. Secondly Stevie knows her too well. She'd see right through it. The serious edge in Stevie's eyes informs Alex that her assumptions are not misplaced.

Alex decides to try the evasive route. Technically it's not lying and it might work, "Why wouldn't I be here?"

"Alex," Stevie sighs despairingly again, "Cut the crap. We both know something is up. Might as well 'fess up."

Conveniently the waiter returns, "May I get you two ladies anything else?" He takes the now empty bottles.

_Saved by the dork._ "Another couple of rounds please" says Alex, "she's paying," gesturing at Stevie. Stevie is about to glare but thinks better of it before digging out a few more dollars, handing the crisp bills to the man.

When he is gone Stevie returns to her persistent self. "Enough procrastinating! Spill it! Please, tell me what is troubling you. If you add in the juicy, embarrassing parts I'll even forget about paying for your drinks!" Stevie firmly believes that Alex finally has a love interest in her life and is determined to pry every little detail out of the girl. The tone of her voice is demanding, but is tinged with softness. Alex detects the subtle meaning and offers a sad, weary smile.

"Are you sure you must know?" Alex inquires, oblivious even now to Stevie's rationale.

Stevie nods, "Lex… Alex… we've been friends for quite some time. Something isn't right with you." Stevie raising a hand to prevent Alex from the interjection she knows is coming. "I'm not going to force you to tell me, but I will take it as an insult if you do not," she arches an eyebrow to empathize the point, "Satisfactory?"

Alex nods, lowering her eyes and giving an exasperated sigh while rubbing both eyes with the palm of her hands.

_Damn girl. At least the beer arrived before hand_. _She's going to need them. What the fuck am I talking about her for? I'M GOING TO NEED THEM. _She grasps the cold glass, downing a good portion of the newly arrived bottle. Dark brown meets light as Alex looks into Stevie's eyes. In it she senses the warmth, friendship, and genuine caring nature in her companion. After a long moment Alex breaks contact, staring off to the side before finishing all but the last gulp of beer.

"Do you believe in dreams? Alex says, placing an elbow on the table, resting her chin on in the palm of her hand. Hers from earlier that day is returning and with a vengeance, every bit as vivid, fresh and appalling as previously.

_Smoke and ash bellow into the sky. Long, slender tongues of orange-yellow flame embrace the trees lining the stone street. They start from the base, spiraling into the branches, moving higher and faster as the wind encourages growth. Along with sparks, rivers of heat and meandering fire is coaxed this way and that, offering new opportunities to grow and expand. The screams of the terrified mixes with the loud toiling of the church bells as men quickly take arms, bow, sword and shield. Women and children rushing this way and that, trying to take shelter as the fireballs continue to rain down. From somewhere high overhead a dragon screams. The high pitch increasing as it circles for another attack. More fire belches from its maw and cascades into the vulnerable marketplace. Canvas awnings, timber supports and barrels, hay for livestock and cowering villagers under wagons or vendor booth disappear from sight as it explodes in an angry blast of rage._

"Do I believe in dreams?" Stevie blinks in puzzlement, "I'm not sure I understand."

Alex rolls her eyes, ignoring the trauma in her mind. "Steve, you sound like a broken parrot. Common, it's not that difficult of a question. Do you believe in dreams?" Absent-mindedly she carefully holds one hand in the other, almost as if it has been terribly hurt.

_Despite the cacophony all around the men of the community rally to form hurried battle lines. Somehow the sun is on the defenders side and is able to break through the veil of black smoke to reflect off the quickly approaching silver creature. Bows are aimed into the heavens and pierce the air at the incoming monstrosity. The brown shafts with their black tips are accurate as they are deadly. Few miss the target, yet it still flies. The thick silver scales are stronger than any human crafted mail or chain, mitigating the weapon strikes as if they were the most meaningless of pests. Another roar from beyond and soon thereafter a dozen good men lie dead, some incinerated outright, others charred beyond recognition, metal and sinew merging as one under the intense heat. Fireball after devastating fireball slams into the heroic soldiers with ferocious effectiveness. _

"Like that they mean something?" Stevie replies as Alex nods her head in affirmation, coughing suddenly. "Not all the time. Some of them are pointless, goofy and fun," Stevie purposely leaves out nightmares as she continues, "but yes, I suppose there are some that do have significance. Are you saying you have been having dreams like that?"

_Proud, honorable men, brothers, fathers, sons, stand and die. Nonetheless, it does not stop another volley of arrows from once again meeting the immovable wall of silver and having the same usefulness as before: nothing. Unshakable determination isn't destroyed as another ground trembling explosion signals another building gone, a crater, and pillar of smoke into the sky. Fear filled faces look upwards, apprehension clearly visible as the dragon begins to circle again, powerful wings angled in a now familiar pattern, with one notable exception, and it is descending._

Alex hesitates, fidgeting in her chair, wondering if she should tell everything. Stevie, meanwhile, maintains a constant, patient stare that seemingly is able to look into Alex's soul. The gaze does not go unnoticed by Alex and perturbs her more and more.

_Eyes widen in surprise, as the huge beast grows nearer and nearer. One large armored wing meets the church steeple. Bone, muscle, and scales meet wood, mortar and stone, the victor being decided abruptly as the supporting columns crack and shatter as the rest of the church steeple follows suit as it comes crashing down. Whether the move is purposeful or indirect, it is impossible to tell and is of little consequence to those unfortunate enough to cower below, crushing the poor inhabitants in a pile of rubble and smoking embers. Those nearby rushing to the aid of those select few fortunate enough to remain alive._

Impossible for Alex to tell, her eyes enlarge in time with the villagers in her mind. _How the hell does Stevie do that! Fuck. She did that funky, eye thing again!_

"I don't know. I've always thought that dreams were… rather are, mindless random thoughts in our brains that appear sometimes. I mean. How are you supposed to tell the difference?" Slowly Stevie is beginning to realize subtle physical changes in her friend. The bugged out eyeballs is a great example.

"I wouldn't exactly call them dreams…" her voice drifts off.

"Then what would you call them?" asks Stevie.

"Nightmares," Alex visibly flinches as if struck, glancing down at the table. Stevie once again notes the shameful stare.

_None of the howls of anguish, the screams of anger, or shouts of horror seem to matter as the dragon touches down with a great roar in the center of the ruined marketplace. From snout to the end of the tail the silver-blue scaled creature is over thirty feet long and towers above the humans. Roaring once more offers a terrifying glimpse into its mouth. Although no flames are called forth the razor sharp fangs and teeth give plenty of incentive to avoid its jaws. The long flexible tail and armored edges along each wing further the angst-ridden picture. After seeing how rock and stone fair against the creature, none question the impact of human flesh against any of these potent appendages._

"Everyone gets nightmares. It's ok to be upset about them. Don't let them bring you down," Stevie covers Alex's shaking hands using her own. Stevie has no way of knowing that Alex felt reverberations from the dragon bellow down to her very core.

"What were they about?" she questions.

_Regardless of how imposing the beast might be it is not what holds everyone's reverence. No, much the contrary, the villagers are all looking at the stranger who jumped off the dragon's back. As impressive as the dragon is in physical prowess the stranger, contrasts starkly. Wearing a deep purple, hooded robe it is difficult to tell gender, especially since save for the sandals and an ordinary looking wooden staff, the arms and legs are covered. _

"I'd…" Alex hesitates again, the pure suspicion, panic, is pummeling her senses. Already she feels nauseous. "I'd rather not talk about it… but people, innocent people, died a lot."

_For once since the beginning of the attack it is quiet. The occasional cackle of fires and cries of the wounded were piercing the newfound stillness. Regardless, it's a peace that cannot last. Suspicion, hatred, anger, sadness, rage, emotions cascade into a cesspool that lacks logic as furious villagers and soldiers surround the intruders with every manner of available object capable of inflicting injury. The dragon does not seem to care in the least, snorting once or twice before eyeing the various livestock and horses wondering about. The stranger walks forward confidently, patting the dragon on its lowered snout before approaching the thoroughly spooked and upset villagers, lowering the hood to reveal the face behind the veil._

Stevie nods her head trying to understand, growing more worried about Alex. The poor girl is shivering. "That would be quite traumatic. How often have these been happening?"

_A gasp and shout goes through the assembled crowd, whispers and hushed voices rippling throughout. The face is inherently female, long dark brown hair is unrestrained, catching the breeze to frame even darker eyes and soft white skin. She is also tall, standing over many of her peers. Being, essentially unarmed does not seem to present any concern to her either._

"Every night more or less," shrugs Alex, taking a great breath that seems to calm her over reactive senses. "Sometimes I can control it. You know, like, I can move or walk and even fly." Unfortunately this particular dream is not. If she could many perhaps would still be tending to imaginary crops and children.

"_Greetings. From the expressions on your faces I gather you did not enjoy my welcome address," she smiles pleasantly, ignoring the oblivious to the leers. "Before I do so, I recommend rather highly that you do not make any rash decisions," she pauses. "Since you do not seem to have heard of me, allow me to introduce myself." The smile grows into a disgusting grin that further sends shockwaves through already near-stilled hearts. "I am called Nimue."_

"Lucid dreaming," interjects Stevie. The technique is a tactic that she taught herself some time ago. Fortunately, Alex doesn't know this and if she has her way, never will. This fact does not hinder the escalation of silent concern. Alex is now flushed, heat radiating off her in waves, although not one indication of sweat adorns her face, neck or arms.

"Yes," says Alex. "I don't mind it when it's like that. Usually I fly away into the clouds or walk into the sunset. But more and more frequently I feel like there is no control. I feel like I'm reliving something. Like some creepy mind thing put a DVD into my mind and I'm the main character." She sighs, and having knowledge of what happens next, pleads to the Gods' unknown that it does not.

_The announcement is met with roars of hostility. One villager, a father having lost his entire family in the opening volleys. He shouts, rushing at her with a sword. A blacksmith by trade, no one's steel is more finely forged, blade in working order, or prepared than his. He ignores the dire warning and charges headlong at his defenseless foe. A wooden staff against steel in a contest of material that has but one outcome and it clearly is unexpected._

Stevie smirks, "Sounds like a really bad horror movie."

Alex laughs nervously, "Yeah, that's a great way to put it. Except for me it is a horror movie. And I don't have a damned clue how to turn it off or stop the story."

_The man, within striking distance performs a glorious frontal slash that would leave a clean cut from one shoulder, down across the body to the opposite hip, an instantly lethal, powerful blow. The metal meets an invisible force, a shield that locks the blade in place. Strong muscles tug, and he grunts to free his weapon, but to no avail. A second later a bolt of lightning shoots horizontally through his torso, covering the ground in a grotesque display of human entrails and blood. Arrows too strike the same un-seeable wall only to disintegrate. The shooters each struck down in a similar manner. Another round of shrieks meets her ears as the crowd tries to dissipate. Throughout all the carnage Nimue never raises a finger, or performs a spell. The methodology she is teaching is clear, defiance is useless, defiance is death. Unfortunately her pupils continue to have difficulty in fathoming this concept. They obviously require more harsh measures._

"Sorry, I was trying to lighten the mood," says Stevie as Alex closes her eyes, grasping the sides of her head with her hands.

"Yeah I know. Don't worry about it," replies Alex. "Just, seeing blood and guts night after night really begins to drag you down." What Alex doesn't say is that that isn't exactly the truth. Stevie, of course has no way of knowing so what is the harm of the slight white lie? She offers a weary smile and Stevie returns it when, Alex's eyes reopen.

_Her precious pet, her dragon, remains unmolested. The creature's abilities have already been proven much more than a match for the villager's futile weapons. Even inadvertently it kills. One ill-fated soul having gotten too close to the swaying tail, and ending up being launched into the fields. Landing hard, being transformed into a pile consistent with the cow paddies he was so recently tending too._

"I can imagine. Alex, you sure you don't want to talk about them, the nightmares I mean?" asks Stevie, genuine worry in her voice.

The sickening crunch and sounds of breaking bones is one that Alex will never forget as she vehemently shakes her head. "No. They're just stupid dreams. Granted they creep me the fuck out but I'll live." Inside she just wished she could have faith in what she just said. However, the grin given to her friend reassures Stevie enough to drop the subject and the two return to talking about more mundane and boring things.

The conclusion of her dream left untold, haunting, tormenting, and seething in the back of her mind.

_Nimue is unaffected, sighing, "You decide to not listen. You see, I offered you sanctuary a fortnight ago. You replied by sentencing my envoy as a traitor and heretic. Torture, while I condone its usage, cannot be tolerated against an ambassador seeking alliance. This is an insult that will not go unpunished." She looks around, ensuring that her words are heard, not caring as another fool disappears in a shower of flesh. This time an axe attempts to end her life. The message delivered she turns away, levitating on to the back of the dragon. Lacking as much as a simple command the great creature spreads its wings preparing to take off. The fools are now aware of their crime, now they must reap the benefits of the act._

"_As final payment, you're crops are forfeit. Have a pleasant year." The dragon roars a final goodbye, mighty wings beating against the ground to join the sky once more. Once at the proper height it breathes fire from its mouth in a steady stream, bombarding the rows upon rows of just-about-ready-to-harvest corn and wheat. With the embrace of the cold fall and winter closing fast she is aware of, along with those on the ground, that they are doomed to starve._

Tears threaten to spill down her trembling cheeks. The incessant physical and psychological pain overpowering weakening mental walls, even as she smiles, then laughs with Stevie.

* * *

High up on the rafters overhead, unbeknownst to everyone is a strange alien being, not from this world. Absolutely silent and camouflaged perfectly into the aged wood, down to the grain, he takes the surroundings and patrons in, but his true focus is on the two ladies – one a dark brunette, the other much lighter - in the back.

The objectives are too easy to track. Each girl is much like a lighthouse in the dark, bright, alive, vibrant, impossible to miss in the otherwise black emptiness. The energetic aurora's radiating off each is infinitely greater than anyone in near vicinity. Together they glow and pulse with a vibrancy that is as easy to dismiss as the sun in the sky. If they could see him, and most assuredly they cannot, his concealment is too perfect; he would look like a very spiky, giant hornet. A quick glance to the side and a few twitches of the eye alert his partner that these humans are indeed the targets.

Their master A'Kor'tha will be most pleased.


	4. Chapter 4: ParaMagical Investigations

**This chapter took awhile due to several unavoidable delays. The next update shouldn't take nearly as long. If you like the story, a review or two is always nice!**

**FanFicGirl you rock! Thanks for all your hard work and advice! **

**xX-Star Sapphire-Xx I wish you the best in all your endeavors. I look forward to working with you again in the future! This chapter is dedicated to you.  
**

**Chapter 4: Justin Russo**

Justin Russo leans back in his leather desk chair with his fingers entwined, hands clasped behind his head. Sighing contently he stretches his legs, extending them out in front of him as he gazes at the far wall. Despite being a late Friday night he is dressed in an expensive, tailored suit. Polished dress shoes, matching socks and pants, tie, and a flawless pressed shirt complete his ensemble and it only adds to his current agitation. He works at The Bureau of Para-Magical Investigations. While a formidable, worldwide institution, the headquarters is located in New York. It is a huge complex that towers sixty stories high and another dozen underground. Inside its' walls are thousands of offices and databases. Buried below the earth are special security labs whose purpose is to develop, test and refine new spells. Many of the battle spells allowed in the Wizard Competition's were originally created inside them. Tracking centers monitor monsters and the occasional demon. Sensitive spell detectors analyze magic usage, particularly that relating to the dark arts and forbidden rituals. Should a problem or violation occur, briefing and equipment rooms allow teams of specially trained individuals to resolve them. The brain of this carefully orchestrated merging of technology, humans, and magic is the Operations Center or Ops.

Despite being staffed twenty-four hours, the large office building is quiet and serene at this hour. Given the rarity of monster and demon sightings most of the employees have gone home. While he does enjoy the tranquility; unfortunately, sometimes it serves as a constant, a nagging reminder that his work too often comes before relationships. Accustom to such thoughts he has long adjusted with the occasional difficulties his mind encounters when it is allowed to wander.

Justin, when he permits himself this privilege loves the time. He has even coined it his 'Mind Time'. He still isn't sure where the name originates. Some reclusive part of his brain always offered insanity as a viable option. A smile forms on his face, growing wider. He could only imagine the endless waves of torment if even the slightest hint of such a title reaches his younger siblings. The smirk ends much sooner than Justin would have liked. His gaze quickly falling to the silver framed picture on the corner of his desk.

A photograph of the three Russo siblings; Alex is in the middle, an arm wrapped around each of her brothers, Justin on the left, Max on the right. All three of them are smiling. Justin looks upon that representation fondly although he isn't pleased when it is taken. Jerry, his father, had quite the time getting the trio to settle down and be still. Twenty minutes and almost an entire roll of film later he succeeds much to everyone's great relief. Justin might not have been happy then but now he is glad. That particular moment is five years ago. Just before the Wizard's Competition.

Despite constant quibbles and spars to annoy and attract attention, Justin, Alex and Max are close. Max, the youngest, serves as the comedian of the trio. Whether it by complete obliviousness to most of life or some unique outlook upon it seldom is there a dull moment when he is around. From jumping garbage cans with his bike, to creating the super hero Maxi – Man or carving a club-house out of a gigantically grown pumpkin with the aid of magic, he is endlessly confounding Justin and Alex, much less his parents, as to his antics. Alex, the middle child, the cunning rebel, is always discovering new and interesting ways to find trouble. More often than not somehow her brilliant plan backfires and she, much to her chagrin, is forced to rely on Justin to bail her out. Justin, being the oldest, strives to be perfect. Forever on a quest for knowledge he is never satisfied with just knowing how to accomplish something, he wants to know _why _it reacted; why it exploded; why it fizzled and foamed.

Although Max and particularly Alex are constant pains in his backside, they complete him. They fill the parts of his heart his own personality cannot. Together, they are brothers, sister, best friends, and family. No matter what trials seem to threaten their bond it always turns out stronger than before. As the deadline to the Competition approaches, the tension noticeably increases. Even Max, oblivious to mostly everything occurring around him feels the stress. Alex, finally realizing that years of avoidance in the arcane arts have left her at a serious disadvantage begins to, at long last, concentrate and redouble her efforts. Max, in a similar fashion does the same. The attempt is too little too late. Justin, the dutiful pupil, always striving to not just understand but dissect, rearrange, expand and improve upon what he learns, over powers his younger siblings despite their valiant efforts.

In spite of a pact and a promise they made to their parents to do the contrary, over the course of a few years the three grow apart or as in the case with Alex immediately following. Justin, proficient in monster hunting before the Wizard Competition emerges as a young prodigy after.

His newfound spells and influence does not go unnoticed. He is rapidly promoted in the highly antiquated and effectually defunct Magical Services Office. Noticing the innumerable flaws, he uses his high-ranking power as Director of Magical Services to reorganize several different monster, demon, spell monitoring, and usage divisions into one. Overnight he effectively becomes the founder of the Bureau of Para-Magical Investigations. The building itself exists for quite some time but by the time Justin becomes director all space is a premium and all of the equipment is obsolete. Worse, the Bureau's policies are even more archaic, detrimentally so. Often when useful information is gathered it requires a prohibitive amount of time for anyone to act on it. This is doubly felt if it must cross jurisdictions or divisions. Justin's careful planning changes all of this in just over a year. In addition to equipment being modernized, communication, training and the deployment of teams is all streamlined. The building too receives a facelift, gracefully expanded into the heavens, and adorned with all the flashy, modern looks, all green technology of course. The Bureau is now able to effectively carryout what it is intended to do: allow and ensure the safe, ethical use of magic for all.

The bronze plaque hanging on the wall reminds him of the Bureau's vision statement, a few short sentences that take Justin nearly a week of constant and agonizing contemplation to formulate.

**We are family. We go into the unknown. Chaos or tranquility, accomplishing what others cannot. We are learners'. We are watchers'. Peace or hate we go where others refuse. We are hope. We are justice.**

Next to it are a dozen or so awards and honors of various sorts. Although frequently he looks at the recognition given to him seldom does he reflect about it in the way he does when staring at the small six by eight color photograph of three siblings smiling, shoulder-to-shoulder.

Justin picks up the silver frame and he allows the memories to form, flow and cascade in whatever direction they decide to take. As they collide and merge to generate a collage of his life Justin begins to feel the sadness and regret build inside. As difficult as it is to cope with the separation from Max, Alex, despite her many character flaws, is much harder. It is her constant meddling and blatant disregard for rules – particularly those of her parents regarding magic that integrally shapes how he made the current policies and choices.

Contrary to popular belief, the Bureau doesn't operate exclusively on magic or spells. When Justin reorganizes the Bureau he insists on utilizing 'normal' devices in addition to magical. The apparent reason is for security. But Justin offers a dissimilar view. He is concerned that employees would become too accustom to doing things the 'easy way' and become lax in their work. He always emphasizes that to solve a dilemma it begins and ends with the mind. Technology, and especially magic cannot replace cold, hard logic and intuition. They are only tools to accomplish the mission.

Regardless of his views on the matter Alex, more than even his parents, leaves a deep impression, a void that cannot simply be filled in or bridged. Justin feels his eyes begin to water. He never wanted or intended for them to ever break apart like they did. Looking back on it now, knowing what he does, he isn't even sure if the Wizard Competition is worth the terrible price, magic or no magic. Nonetheless, it is far too late for second guesses. Justin knows this but does so anyway. He swallows down the ever-growing lump of self-loathing and guilt threatening to overwhelm his senses.

He wakens from his flashbacks with a very abrupt and unpleasant start to the sound of the phone on his desk. It continues to ring loudly as he opens his eyes, wincing as the morning sun greets a face used to the dark. Cursing under his breath he turns his attention to the annoying appliance and resists the urge to toss it against the wall. Instead he picks up the receiver.

"Director Russo."

"Sir," the voice on the other end isn't one he recognizes. "Did I interrupt you?"

"No, just a late night," Justin rubs his forehead with the tips of his fingers thinking that this disturbance had better be important. "What's the problem?" He struggles to keep the agitation from out of his voice.

Apparently he didn't succeed, "I apologize to bother you Sir but we are detecting a level six disturbance. Director Starvos is requesting your presence in the Operation Center." Whatever remnants of sleep were still there leaves Justin as he hears the news.

Due to the sheer size of the organization, the amount of information, and number of people involved there are multiple branches of leadership. A combination of government, corporate and military ranks, Justin as the Director of Para-Magical Investigations is at the top. Exactly beneath, and accountable solely to him, are Deputy Directors. Kara Starvos is one of them. In Justin's opinion she is also the most proficient of the group. For her to require a second opinion, much less assistance is unlike her. This is especially true for a disturbance that, in his judgment, is quite mild given her record of success, even if it is a level six.

The rating system, simple in purpose is quite elegant in its design. The format, while not created by Kara and Justin, is completely redesigned. Now it straightforwardly allows for quick categorization of monsters and dispersal of crisis teams based on the projected danger. Infractions range from zero to ten with the higher the number being more serious an issue. Generally violations below a two are ignored or left to neophytes in training. Three to five ratings, especially those with the latter higher moniker, are usually investigated. Level six is a moderate issue. Usually they occur when a particularly unkind, unruly monster refuses to co-operate and live peacefully. Anything beyond six demands immediate attention and is considered extremely high risk due to the potential for demonic activity. That, if found or detected requires an entirely different response.

His response is quick, devoid of trace of weariness, "I understand. I will be there shortly. Keep me informed if the situation changes."

He hangs up the phone and stands, stretching. It is yet another night that he spends on his desk. The habit is one he continually tells himself that he will cease. Nonetheless somehow, despite the best attempts to the contrary, keeps repeating. However, being prepared he goes to a nearby closet pulling out a clean, flawlessly pressed white shirt and black pants. Since his office is private he quickly changes, washing his face and brushing his teeth before heading to the elevators.

At a moderate jog it takes seven minutes for him to reach the tracking center from his top floor office. Every second of travel time is spent designing various scenarios. The lack of information is strangely comforting. Contemplation without details allows one to see more options and seek alternatives that might be overlooked otherwise. Of course, it also means that one could be on the entirely wrong path. For Justin, the exercise is much more about keeping his mind shape rather than actively trying to guess what Kara has in store for him. Using a swipe card and a well-placed handprint he passes through the last security door. Another turn and he goes by yet another door and an invisible magical barrier enacted to prevent light and unauthorized users from entering.

The ceiling lights are dimmed to provide just enough illumination to read and write comfortably while allowing maximum visibility to the myriad assortment of equipment scattered about the room. A large conference table is in the center. Along the left wall a female wizard is carefully controlling one of the crystal balls, its normally transparent appearance hazy, as if filled by dark smoke or clouds. Occasionally a burst of color breaks through the fog to elucidate the near immediate area and in an instant vanishing as quickly as it appears. The right has a special station for psychic boosters and detection, a technician diligently concentrating. The middle wall, the one adjacent to Justin, in addition to half of the conference table contains a row of highly sophisticated computers. Two of these are stationed. Directly across is the heart of the entire center, the two massive touch-display screens. Starting four feet off the floor all the way to the ceiling and spanning half the room, they are impressive. The Operations Center or Ops for short is a perfect merger of technology and magic. Standing across the room watching the entire scene and with particular interest at the screens, is Kara Starvos.

As Justin enters the room he doesn't immediately recognize or even look for Kara. Instead his attention, out of habit, is focused on the information on the wall displays. Kara does the opposite and moves towards him as soon as he steps into the room. A native of New York, she inherits the best from each of her parents, is of medium build and curvy in all the right places. Light brown hair ending gracefully just below the shoulder is dutifully restrained into a tight ponytail. Her bangs are cut to accent her face, blue eyes and pale complexion. She wears similar business attire as Justin only with a dark navy blue skirt and white blouse. Matching high heels make her seem a few more inches taller and that much more imposing and intimidating. She is attractive and knows it although she never flaunts or uses her appearance to influence those around her. Not that she ever needs too. Her personality bleeds intelligence, confidence, utilized always in a polite and dignified manner.

Having worked from the bottom up she knows the ins and outs, the stresses and difficulties of the tasks entrusted to those beneath her. Despite being soft spoken she is serious, stern, demanding, and wholeheartedly devoted to the Bureau and it's' cause. In a similar fashion as Justin, she earns the respect of others instead of undeservingly been promoted through the ranks. This reason more than any other allows her to stand out.

"Director Russo, thank you for coming," she walks until she is standing next to him, extending her right hand to which Justin shakes firmly. "I thought you might want to see this for yourself. We, a moment ago detected a level six-."

Justin blinks. "How many?" This perceptibly is not the news he is expecting.

"Two." Kara, well aware of what is transpiring in Justin's head smiles, "I'm aware you also like having answers to the 'who, what, when, where, why. I can't give you the complete picture but at least it's partially filled in." As if on cue a map appears on one of the wall displays. The picture shown is a topographical map. Although certainly capable of extrapolating 3-D features from the otherwise 2-D graphic it does not.

Justin doesn't recognize the region and glances at her questioningly. Having a photographic memory helps considerably. This is especially true when it comes to maps. But he still doesn't have the faintest clue where this place is. It appears to be a large peninsula, probably a seafaring town from the looks of it. All of this is absolutely crucial information. Everyone in the Ops Center comprehends this too.

"Yes, your puzzlement is not misplaced. I am too," Kara correctly reads the blank look on Justin's face. While she may lack his particular gift she is no slouch herself and her talents for terrain identification are substantial as well. "We ran the algorithms and no match was found."

"The software couldn't find it either?" Justin asks. The question is rhetorical, Kara, having worked with Justin for some time knows it.

She moves to a nearby console and taps a few buttons. "Here is where it gets interesting," another tap and a blinking red symbol appears in the northwest quadrant of the map. "This is the signature we detected tonight," Kara taps a few more times, "Here is yesterday night," another tap and symbol appears; this one below the first separated by a few inches. "Two nights ago," as previously the blue marker appears parallel to the first. "Three nights ago," she turns to the keyboard once more and a fourth appears, below the previous one. Together they form a three by three inch, perfect square.

Justin is stunned, "Are you saying there are four different incursions?" Kara cautiously nods in agreement. "Why did we not discover this earlier?"

Kara shifts her attention back to the map, purposely avoiding the penetrating gaze that Justin is offering. "The timing could not have been more perfect. Simply, we were lax in our responsibilities. Nothing like this has occurred since last week. Not even a hiccup of activity. I offered most of my staff time off, as did Charles. We were running on skeleton shifts."

Charles Trujillo is another executive director. Unlike Kara or Justin he was with the Bureau prior to the reorganization. Talented though he is, frequently he's skeptical, critical even, of how the "younger generation," a mildly insulting reference to Justin and Kara - manages. This only increases with Justin being promoted over him. Officially he remains professional, but this does not stop antics that border on the childish, he continuing to frustrate and hamper both at every chance.

"I know you did the same. What we were looking for was in the wrong place. Frankly I'm surprised we revealed as much as we did." Justin, assuming there is more keeps his mouth shut as Kara isolates the region of the map with the blue dots and zooms in until both wall displays are filled. "What we do know is that these were detected at the same time. That in itself is puzzling."

Justin nods remaining quiet, his mind working. "And terrain matching was a failure?" Kara nods. "I don't believe this is ordinary. Look," he uses a finger to plainly connect the dots, a line appearing as he does. When he is done a square is formed, becoming rather clear as it is highlighted. "The real focus should be here," he points to the center.

Kara nods again. "Yes. I agree. But I believe an investigation team should check out the other locations. We may miss something if we don't."

Justin rubs his chin in thought, "We still have a problem. Until we figure out where exactly this place is we have nowhere to send the teams," he takes out his wand and begins to earnestly tap, using it as a wizard phone. Kara interrupts him just as he is about to finish dialing.

"Don't bother. I already re-called Alpha and Bravo teams. They should be here within the hour," says Kara, Justin looking at her with surprise. "Don't look so shocked," she knowingly smirks. "This is too abnormal to not take the precautions."

"Yes, your right, of course," replies Justin he rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers again. _I definitely need more sleep at night. I'm far from my peak performance. _He sighs again before going to a coffee pot that, from the smells has the freshly brewed drink. Using a foam cup he pours it, adding cream and sugar before swallowing a good portion of it down. The near scalding liquid shocks his brain into action once more.

"Ma'am, Sir, administrator McFly is calling from the Rome Branch. He is on the emergency channel and requesting immediate conference," the operator from one of the stations says. Justin glances at the operator than at Kara, the name suddenly sounding familiar. A face quickly pops into his mind.

Mike McFly is a rather short man. Roundish around the belly and one to wear outlandish clothing, the kind that sparkles and has gold trim; he doesn't make an imposing, dominative figure. In a rather peculiar sort of circumstances he ends up working as an official Wizard Test Taker. Under the direct authority of the Wizard Council he has few bosses, and substantial power. He has the ability to make the choice whether someone, or an entire family, loses their magical powers forever. The job is as much a curse as it is necessary. He, more than anyone else, sees the destitute remains of family after family as magic dissipates the bonds between loved ones. During his many years of service one of the brightest moments of his career is seeing the unity and passion of one family in particular, the Russo's. Priding their relationships more than the magic the two brothers and sister, along with their uncle, and father give up their powers. Left speechless, and dually impressed by this amazing display of affection, he allows all of them to keep their magic, in a blatant disregard for the rules.

Of course, the Russo's never speak a word about how this happened, nor did he. Regardless, soon thereafter the Council finds out. Immediately his duties are suspended pending an abrupt investigation, one that leaves no question as to his guilt. Fortunately for the Russo's, once the record is written, it cannot be undone. The decree, even if incorrect, remains in force, perfectly, legally valid. This does not please the Council in the least. When the inquiry is over McFly is fired.

He remains unemployed for a very short period. A long time friend, Charles Trujello is able to place him as administrator of a monster hunting station in Rome, Italy. The job description is far less glamorous, and considerably more boring. Sitting on your fat behind day in day out waiting for the ever-rare monster to appear makes time pass slowly. Nevertheless, he does his duty. He disgraced himself once previously and is determined not to do so a second time, even if it means doing this lowly task. Sure he may have a small staff, and a few monster hunters, none of this may be put to good use without something to track, or hunt.

Tonight is no different than the norm. He is alone sitting at a reasonably comfortable swivel office chair, legs propped up on the desk. One hand is contently utilizing his fork in a manner far more common to that of a shovel as bite after enormous bite of lasagna disappears. In his other hand he flips casually through the dismal selection of television channels. The various displays and monitors along the wall showing, as they always do, normal status, no anomalies detected. Being a weekday and past primetime of course he cannot find anything worthy of casting his eyes on for thirty minutes, much less sixty. The few employed beneath him often think the same thing. With so little work to be done and boredom so commonplace being placed off-duty seems more of a punishment than reward. Compatriots working comparable duties around the world appear to have a common attitude. Transfers to get out are near one hundred percent, and those wanting in are slightly above zero. Mike McFly though does not care. All of that is irrelevant. His pride, his honor will not allow him to quit, even if ever fiber of his being screams to do just that.

Having just found a decent movie to watch, and with the main plot unfolding, the surprise at hearing the klaxons blare loudly is quite great. He jumps out of his chair startled, the now empty lasagna tray falling on to the floor. Turning another shock greets him, the myriad electronic surveillance equipment all show a demon has been detected. A red dot is automatically identified and highlighted by the computers tracking the monster. Normally this would be of no consequence, but tonight of all nights McFly has few options. No other staff is present and all the response teams are out of place.

Of course, when a singular problem happens rarely is it accompanied alone. In complete, utter disbelief and unfathomable horror, the first dot is joined by a second.

The astonishment wears off fast and his brain takes over. Bored he may be but no one is going to criticize him for being un-prepared. That is why he insists on daily drills, and not all of them scheduled much to the dismay of his employees. Frustrating, as his methods might be they are successful in preparing everyone, him included. By now the diagnostic check is complete, proving that this is indeed genuine and not some false alarm. Started immediately the first alarm sounded confirms his fears. With a racing heart, a sweat-laden hand grabs a white, bound notebook. Quickly he flips through the rarely touched pages to find the correct protocol. Everything is already done. The teams are being assembled but require an hour or more.

The last line, in big, beautiful letters stands out more than the thousand or more other lines of the same drab, black text.

**Contact Bureau North America**

While the text is written to be helpful, in truth it's far more comparable to double edged sword. In the right circumstances a perfect instrument of design and grace. Lacking the aptitude using such a tool is dangerous. The skill set he is struggling with may not be years of dedication and practice with a weapon, but one of management and foresight. Contacting what amounts to your boss, one with plenty of excuses to not want you around leaves adequate incentive to not do exactly what he is considering. Doing nothing though, could very well result in the same conclusion. After all, those allowed to lead must be reasonable in their duties, fathoming when they need assistance, and when those in a higher position of authority should be involved.

The choice he ultimately makes is a rather easy one at that. Sure, of course his job may be forfeit, but at this point in time, he does not care. He made a mistake in the past. He will not do the same again. With another dot appearing on the screen he picks up his wand and begins dialing.

_What else is going to go wrong now? _Justin thinks. Most outright fear contacting Bureau Headquarters, even at the expense of aggravating an already tense or dangerous situation. The emergency channel is established specifically for such an occasion. When everything is entirely out of control and urgent help is needed. The few times this is used may be counted on one hand. When the communiqué is actually warranted is even fewer still.

"Put it through on Screen One. Maintain tracking on Screen Two," Kara says.

Mike McFly's face appears on the large display, clearly upset. The expression on his face changes to pure shock, as both Justin and Kara stare back at him. "Ma'am, Sir, forgive the interruption, I've got two-" another alarm blares causing him to turn away. The tapping of keys is heard before he returns.

"Make that four, incursions, all level six. I don't have nearly enough manpower to handle this may you send assistance?"

"Four? When did were they first detected?" Kara says.

"Minutes ago. We haven't had anything appear for weeks. Certainly nothing anywhere close to this caliber; I don't even have a team skilled enough to handle a six. They were reassigned months ago."

_He almost is sounding shameful of situation. Admitting that you are helpless often does that to one's pride._ Justin surmises. _I can't really blame him either. I personally made dozens of decisions like that when I was first appointed. _He sighs before moving to a console directly connecting the computers in New York to their counterparts in Rome. A second later what Mike McFly is seeing is also being shown to them. Side by side the patterns look eerily familiar. Another moment passes for Kara to catch on. After the time zones are considered, the emergences, separated by two oceans, on two unlike continents, in two completely dissimilar cities, are exactly the same.

Justin feels as if he has been punched in the stomach. _What is going on here? There must be a connection. What is the connection? _His head, already reeling is a quickly listing, sinking ship, and his talented, nimble mind is in overdrive, shifting into yet an even higher gear.

One of Justin's greatest talents is the able to extrapolate, often quite accurately what is going to happen. The more information he has available the lesser his percentage of error. As a teenager, this trait is largely hidden, even he being unaware of his strength. That does not mean his talent is under-utilized. Alex frequently challenges his worldly notion of logic and integrity. She may not exactly know where his talent derives, but she likely more than anyone else, fathoms the depth, precision, and raw audacity he uses to execute his plans.

The very skill he is becoming so praised for isn't dead luck or proficiency as much as it is recognition of patterns. Past history is an excellent teacher. Justin's bailing-out-of-trouble relationship with Alex exemplifies this point. Constantly in trouble, unable to find a solution; Alex, by not changing her methodologies, or constant strategies of deceit and deception, guarantees that the solution, regardless of the root cause, generally follow the same overall plan. History repeats history, past experience; old, well-known patterns are logical guides of what is going to happen in the future. Based on this postulation the rapid dispatching of teams to contain, and if necessary destroy the intruders is the correct approach. Since he, along with all those present, cannot find a reasonable line of familiarity between the two detections, he, begrudgingly concludes they must be some horrible sorts of coincidence.

Even if they are not, what variation would this make? Justin's options for response are limited without more information. Simply knowing what the creature or creatures is or are would make a world of difference. The fact the computers do not know means that they are reduced to going through thousands of pages of books for identification. Of course, this is impossible without a valid, reasonably high quality picture. If at any point doubt comes into play this is it. Nonetheless, years of training and self-structure overcome the worst of this issue.

Justin starts to outline his plan of action, Kara leaping into action. The pair having worked together for some time moves as a coordinated team, dispatching the correct personal to the required places for this current crisis. He is doing everything by the book, what experience, colleagues, history say is proper. Kara, capable of questioning, or even reversing some of Justin's orders does not. She has no reason too. He is doing everything she would. Never does he ever believe that what he is doing is not right.

He is doing everything in the approved manner, and everything is still completely a mistake.

The only one aware of the error is the very same who orchestrated the entire, deliberate, delicate operation. Justin is doing exactly what a diabolically crafty, unfathomably powerful, demon predicts. What no one may discern is that the occurrences happening on two sides of the globe are the culmination of hundred's of years. Centuries of unleashing the same pitiful excuses of demons to the Earth have whittled away the human's, or rather wizard's impression of the creatures bordering on that of slightly above intelligent. The pleasant side affect of this belief is a standardization of Bureau policies that have become so engrained that the notion of having to go beyond what is written on paper, unchanged for centuries, is absurd, as fantastic in thought as it is to think differently about the feeble demons they contain at every turn.

Justin, for all his aptitude, despite the employees and equipment at his disposal, cannot conceive of the notion of being outdone. Not because it isn't possible, but because no demon has successfully outwit the Wizard Council, and it's subordinates (including the Bureau) governing the use of magic.

The cyclic wheel of history is about to leave those who rely upon it the most in the dust by making a complete turn to the side, on a course mapped out using an otherwise perfectly straight road.


	5. Chapter 5: Dream Terrors

**This chapter may seem a bit strange in the beginning, but it will step up soon! As always I love feedback, and reviews, and I do my absolute best to respond to all alerts, and messages!  
**

**FanFicGirl thanks so much for the suggestions and encouragement!**

**Chapter 5:**

_The assassin is fast. Not only swift, but heavily armed, and well trained. Nimue is impressed. Dismissing her guards prior to arrival is indeed a smart, calculated move. Had she done otherwise many would be dead. She may not have officially granted an audience to the killer, but the invite is unmistakable. The halls leading to the throne room are entirely devoid, even of servants to say nothing of soldiers. The assassin has a direct opportunity to finish Nimue off once and for all. Unfortunately the fool cannot fathom the depth of her abilities. _

_Standing a mere twenty feet apart the two contrasts greatly. Nimue wears no armor, and bears no weapons. Her opponent however, is a walking arsenal of death. Called Kang, he uses a large, circular shield to ward off forward attacks, while using the deadly long sword in the other hand to cleave and slice. Auxiliary daggers rest on either hip, and a longbow is carefully held on his back. _

_Kang may be a large, muscular man, whom at first glance appears to be a lumbering fool. Frequently though he sees reason to operate with such a mentality simply due to the de-threatening effect that it has on people – his targets. By the time they realize what is happening, it is much to late and, one way or another reach an untimely demise. Nimue though, he does not bother to devise a completely bogus identity, or assume false mannerisms. They both realize such strategies would fail. If all assumed personalities are ineffectual from the get-go than logically the remaining solution is to be his unadulterated self._

_He cannot know it but Nimue is familiar with his particular murderous style. Also, unbeknownst to Kang is she, after ensuring all methods of tracing the request back to her are gone, has employed his services before. Nimue values these intricacies as well as Kang, if not better. The political stadium, even for a monarch, is a brutal, unforgiving arena. Hopefully he will offer a decent distraction from the mundane. Due to all these facets (and having the upper hand, of course) she allows him entry into her stronghold. He is going make an excellent example._

"_Greetings. Would you care for beverage or sustenance before our duel?" Nimue politely asks. After all, the fool is going to die she might as well offer him a last meal._

_The response is predictable. "The only object of interest to me is your head. Anything else you may provide or offer is unacceptable," Kang's voice is deep, fitting to the individual. _

"_As you wish. Would you care to write your last requests?" Nimue gestures to a side table where ink and stationary, both of exquisite and rare brands, has been thoughtfully placed. "I give you my word that they will be delivered after your demise."_

"_I think not. The only dying today shall be you." Kang points the sword tip at her._

"_So be it," says Nimue calmly. "Try to at least be a challenge."_

_Kang obliges by running towards her and once within striking distance performs a horizontal slash at neck level. The sword appears only for a fraction of a second from behind the shield. Regardless, by the time he is able to complete the attack Nimue has already moved out of range from the deadly attempt. She is now five feet back from her previous stance. Instantly he reposes, sword at the ready, shield back in defensive position. With a growl the man tries again, with the same results. _

"_My turn," she points at the long sword. Invisible, undetectable tendrils of magic caress the hard material in a fatal embrace. Made of the toughest steel and by the best craftsmen it is at the pinnacle of weapon durability and precision. None of this seems to matter as orange and red flames dance about the blade. Within a matter of seconds metal becomes liquid. A few scalding drops touching a leather covered hand. Despite the protection it is not enough and he releases the now useless weapon with a scream. He tears off the glove in a hurry, a visible, small burn seared into his flesh. The sword, the second it leaves his grasp and touches the ground dissolves into a puddle of fiery, molten goo. _

_Hissing in pain Kang backs off a few steps before retrieving one of the elongated daggers from his hip. More alert then before he runs at Nimue directly. A move that while a surprise does not faze her in the least. A second later a great thud is heard as metal meets stone as he falls to the ground hard. Nimue has cast a water spell directly beneath his feet causing him to slip painfully and land flat on his face, his chest crashing hard into the shield._

_Kang returns to his feet quickly, wiping away a thin trail of blood from under his nose. "You, milady, are going to be more trouble then I anticipated," he says while pulling back his hand in preparation for a knife throw._

_Nimue actually smiles. To her such a statement is a compliment. The tall-tale hand motions are not lost on her. She fully anticipates the dagger to be flung in her direction. What is not foreseen is that three are in the air, not one. _

_The blades, razor sharp and devilishly constructed for maximum aeronautics, tossed by a highly skilled hand, cut through the air with incredible efficiency, and blinding speed. Without question this is one, if not the most important dagger throws of his life, and he has no intention of messing it up due to carelessness. The trio is right on target: throat, heart, stomach. All points are fatal, if not instantly. Nimue is going to make this very easy. She isn't even trying to move or dodge._

_The reason she isn't moving is because she doesn't have too. The air is ripe with magical current. Unfortunately for Kang, he is oblivious to such nuances. She has already silently cast her defense. The flying death knives, despite the speed and precision stop exactly three feet away from their intended target. They are stuck, as if frozen in place and time. For all practicality that is exactly what she has done, with a minute caveat. _

_Walking towards a stunned Kang she touches the tip of each knife, they disintegrating in turn. Immediately seeing her approach again he returns to the defensive, shield at the ready, another blade already in the opposite hand. _

"_Three times you have tried to cease my life. Three times you have failed. I have given you ample opportunity to do so. I feel it is only fair for me to have a turn. What do you say?" Nimue offers a predatory smile._

_Kang notes the discouraging look and readies himself. His stance is solid, and with his back to a supporting column cannot be flanked. Whatever the witch is going to do must be done to him directly. That means bypassing his shield, blade, and mail protecting vital areas._

_Nimue raises a finger and a bolt of green lightening shoots from the tip, burns through the shield, sears through the mail, and buries itself deep into human flesh. Kang can't even scream as green flames erupt from the horrendous wound. The magic eats skin and bone as readily as it does leather and metal. A minute passes and all that remains of Kang is ash._

The fire alarm screeches, and bellows long tone after long tone. Alex is cruelly awakened, and tries to jump out of bed to investigate. She successfully makes it on to one foot. The other becomes entangled in a sheet causing her to tumble to the floor. Swearing she pulls, and tugs, eventually freeing the limb only to discover a torrent of blankets, and comforter's envelope her head, and torso. Ruthlessly she tosses the pesky linens, throwing them back on to the bed. At this point she really does not care whether they are neat, laid out, or even in a pile. All she is concerned with is the terrible blaring that is giving her already aching head a migraine.

Standing Alex follows the green-white shadows playing on the walls, and furniture back to their source with her eyes. A table lamp is enveloped in foul, green colored fire. Despite the flames being supernaturally hot, intense enough to cause the glass bulb to melt, and the complete destruction of the light, nothing else is touched. Not even smoke damage. Not the adjacent wall, or even the delicate, white lace the now ruined fixture sits upon.

_Why does this ALWAYS happen to me! Why can't crap like this happen when… Oh… I dunno…. WHEN I'M FUCKING AWAKE! _Alex's gaze shifts from the strange flames to the dark, pitch-black smoke. Why the small inferno does not spread is beyond her grasp. Frankly, she does not care either. She is much more concerned _why_ it happens.

This isn't the first time, and the way things are going, likely won't be the last either. Night after night, dream after dream, like clockwork she is wakened to find various pieces of furniture on fire, shattered, frozen, or hovering in the air. Of all the instances the green flames is without question her least favorite. This is the fifth occurrence of that particular manifestation and her patience is seriously being tested. Patience and Alex frequently do not meld, and this is no exception. The sole upside to the entire affair is the familiarity. This is what is keeping her from screaming bloody murder in panic, and why the fire extinguisher in the corner remains unused. She tried that tactic before and sees how dreadfully ineffective that turns out to be; a blazing green inferno that defies any sense of logic, and reason, including all methods of extinguishing chemicals, and gases. That means her only remaining option is to simply allow time to take its' course, eventually the flames dying on there own accord.

Discouraged, and feeling worn down Alex makes her way to the bathroom. She stops to deal with the frustratingly essential piece of technology known as a fire alarm, ceasing its' blaring before flicking the light switch on her way past.

_Now I've got to replace that damned lamp for the billionth time. _She turns on the faucet, splashing cool water on to her face, and neck. _Just great! As if money isn't hard enough to get! _Her brain welcomes the icy sensations, contrasting greatly on otherwise superheated, stressed flesh. More water follows as thin rivulets of crystal run down her cheeks and chin. Her gaze is focused downwards before grabbing a nearby washcloth, trailing it across overly weary eyes, and forehead.

Peering deep into the mirror Alex finishes washing and then drying when whatever weariness she is suffering from, disappears. Another face, one inherently not her own, is gazing back. If one were to place the two side by side, similarities would definitely be apparent. Nonetheless there are distinct differences. Where Alex's face is more heart-shaped, defined by graceful, soft curves that merge to create a small, perfect nose. Straight, dark brown hair, unrestrained by ties, or elastic, is free to play, move and wave in whatever direction happens to correspond with the rest of her movement.

The face in the mirror is definitely female with high cheekbones that, while still youthful in look, are much more serious. Alex may have dark brown eyes, but these are much more so, almost black, shadowy, and mysterious. The apparition also has long, slightly curvy black hair that offers an intense, sinister, almost threatening undertone. None of this goes very far to reassure a thoroughly horrified Alex.

"Awesome! Now I'm going insane," she gripes out loud. "The last thing I need is to get myself institutionalized."

"Why would you do that?" Inquires a soft soprano.

"W-ho said that?" Alex jumps in fright, maybe she isn't so wrong about the loss of sanity after all.

"Oh come now. Don't do that. That expression is quite ill fitting upon your face. How about a smile of greeting instead?" The same voice politely asks.

Alex, creeped out beyond belief is almost beside herself, "Who are you? What do you want?" She frantically looks around for the source of the voice. Finding only silence in reply she returns to look at the mirror. The enigmatic girl-face smirking. "It-it's you! You're the one talking to me!" Alex gasps out.

"Took you long enough to figure out. Wow, you must be quite slow," the sneer is deliberate, intended to hurt and mock. Alex doesn't fall for the ploy and ignores it for the time being.

"What are you?"

"I'm human, just like you," comes the reply.

Alex's laughter is a mixture of disbelief and accusation.

"No you're not. You're talking to me through a mirror. That means I've lost all my marbles or you're nothing more then food poisoning and some horrible hallucination. How about telling me which one is right?"

The face pouts, "You truly do not know who I am?" Alex nods. "Are you sure?"

"Damnit tell me already!" Alex snaps. "I'm not in the mood for this kind of crap. Either shut the fuck up and get out of my head or leave me alone to be miserable and cursed."

Laughter fills the room, echoing and playing off the tiled walls to make it sound much louder than it should be. "Alex, my dear, such a sharp tongue you have. Rest assured you are not, as you so eloquently put it, losing all your marbles, or hallucinating." The voice speaks with such conviction that Alex nearly believes it, "And you certainly are not cursed-"

"Really? That still doesn't answer who you are. You've got ten seconds before I shatter your ass into a million-and-one pieces," Alex snaps. Punching the mirror seems like an excellent idea. Fuck the replacement cost and risk of cut knuckles.

A deep sigh, "You truly do not recognize me?"

"Yes. You've got five seconds."

"I am called many names. You, my dear Alex, know me as Nimue."

The wail of shock is the brute, direct result of the horror that devastates Alex's system. The scream is primal in nature, from the earliest times of distress, and pain. The name could have been anything. Anything on the Earth, Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot would have been preferable, if only because Alex never studies history and knows little besides all three kill without remorse during their rule.

Nimue though, is different. Night after night, Alex is allowed the privilege of watching, in greater detail than any movie possibly could replicate, how Nimue systematically initiates a rain of terror using fear through magic to impose her immovable will.

"NO! NO! It can't be! You can't be Nimue! OH GOD NO!" Alex screams in pure indignation, trembling from the sheer overload of emotions.

"Alex, Alex, Alex. Calm down!" Nimue says with no effect. She raises her voice to a shout. "ALEX RUSSO, LISTEN TO ME THIS INSTANT." That finally breaks through the shell of panic Alex has created. "I did what I had too. It was my duty, and place as Queen."

"You aren't a queen. You're a murderer." Alex exclaims in exasperation.

"I could state the same about you." Nimue responds. "You dislike bugs do you not?" Alex nods cautiously, not certain where this line of dialect is heading. "Squished them flat?" Another nod. "Then you too have killed."

_How dare she make that comparison! _Alex is incredulous. _That is COMPLETELY different_. "How dare you lecture me about crimes? You're the one who killed hundreds! You left those poor villagers to suffer and die! That is murder, pure and simple! I smashed annoying bugs that wanted to bite me. Not human beings!

_Why does this speech always seem to come up? After the second or third tirade it begins to lose its appeal. _Nimue looks and listens to Alex patiently. "Whether human or not, in the end they are alive. Humans and insects are not so different in that regard. Even you cannot deny that I am right!"

"I never said you were right. I never did, and never will kill another person. You have bloodstained hands. You did so without reason. You played the role of judge and executioner."

Nimue goes along with Alex's comment. After all the girl is right "Such is the duty of a Queen. One day you will understand."

"Will?" Alex pounces on the word like a cat does to a mouse.

Nimue shakes her head in negation. "Today is not the day for such an explanation. Soon your future will begin to unfold and much will fall into place."

"I don't care about my future. I don't care about you either! Burn in hell bitch! I'm out of here!" Alex, fed up spins around on her heels and is about to exit the bathroom when a wall of green flames blocks the way, singeing the t-shirt she is wearing. "WHAT THE FUCK!" Alex screams, frantically batting at the fabric of her shirt to ensure it isn't still at risk of burning. "Let me out!"

The mirror image laughs at Alex. "You know what you must do to leave. Do it and you are free!"

"I'd rather die!" A hallucination can't really kill her. Or so she hopes.

"So be it then." Nimue seemingly complies by somehow making the flames into the bathroom. Spanning wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling there is absolutely no room at all for Alex to wiggle past. Since it is an interior room there aren't any doors or windows to escape through either. "One way or another you will understand your potential. The sooner you are able to comprehend that resisting is wasted, the better."

The flames grow closer and Alex scrambles to the back wall, as far away from inferno as possible. Already she is able to feel the intense heat. Her exposed arms and face uncomfortably hot.

"Make your suffering end."

"Kiss my ass!"

"An appealing offer I must admit, but alas, that is not what I am seeking." By now Alex is crouching in the corner, trying to avoid the ever-worsening heat. "Stop the torture. You know what you must do," Nimue's voice is deadly quiet, a deliberate tactic designed to rattle Alex. She succeeds.

Alex is panting, sweat is pouring off any exposed skin. Her t-shirt is almost completely soaked through. At the rate she is going, she is going to die from dehydration rather then the flames heat. Heat that with every breath reminds her that the worst is yet to come.

"Are you going to acquiesces?"

"Please stop!" Alex begs. Normally she isn't afraid of flames, but normally she isn't at risk of being painfully engulfed by them either.

"That is not the answer I am looking-"

"Damnit! Please fucking stop! I haven't done anything to you! Leave me in peace! Make it stop!" The sweat covering her face makes the tale-sign of tears nearly impossible to see. Nonetheless, they are not missed on Nimue.

She is not wholeheartedly cruel. In fact, much the contrary, she sympathizes greatly with Alex. Her training regime so many years ago are far milder, milder by her standards. Alex evidently has an utterly dissimilar definition of what difficult really is. How the times have changed, and what being an affluent teenager really means. When Nimue is a girl being punished by flogger and cane is quite common.

"Alex, there is only one way this may end. Desist holding back the inevitable! If you do not I will be forced to resort to more…dramatic measures." Nimue calmly replies, watching as Alex's discomfort grows.

_Dramatic? God Lady, how much more can you get. You're already trying to incinerate me!_ Alex muses. _What am I thinking? I'm actually considering what this lunatic is saying_. "FUCK HER! I'd rather burn."

"That may easily be arranged." Nimue softly says to the scared, huddling form. She rightly presumes that it would come to this, especially given how stubborn Alex has become.

_Shit! I said that out loud? Great Alex! Just fucking great! _Alex mentally slaps her brain for stupidity before realizing that the flames are racing towards her at breakneck speeds. "You're going to kill me! STOP!" Alex screams, as the very uncomfortable heat turns unbearable within seconds.

"If you die, then so be it." Nimue's answer does not reassure Alex at all. That is the intent. "You know what you must do. Stop resisting," her voice maddeningly quiet and subdued for one about to watch another burn.

Alex begins to openly cry, the pain along her arm growing exponentially. Then tender caress of fire meets mortal skin, and everything goes black. Even though unconscious her mind is not allowed peace, a memory from a life long past resurfaces once more. Alex, if she were awake would recognize the flashback as one she has seen before.

_Nimue avoids the first shot with ease. The burning sphere misses by a wide margin. The sorcerer's shot goes to her extreme left before striking a tree. The highly energized ball explodes in an unholy shower of sparks and flame. Instantly the tree trunk is ablaze, heated tendrils already spiraling up the trunk into the branches. The second, and third come considerably closer. Nimue is actually made to move this time. To her right another marvel of nature disappears in red-orange. The third she assumes a different tactic. Instead of dodging she casts a fireball of her own. Perpetually launched hers collides with her attackers'. Magic fights magic before the two energies begin to merge, and a microsecond later explode with a bang and shockwave. _

_The training exercise is too easy. Nimue, pauses for a moment before beginning the short incantation. The incantation is old. The origin is clouded with confusion. This does not stop the effectiveness of the spell. A dark circle appears in the ground and from the depths of the Underworld a disgraced commissioner of magic appears. These are not ghosts, but fully functional apparitions that retain their mortal bodies by feeding off the power contained within the spell. The spectator, in a similar fashion to his brother wears the robes he died in. Whether death happens in battle, or by some other cause does not matter. What does is heeding the demands of the caller, the chance for redemption. _

_In this situation, doing anything possible to kill Nimue. Fireballs, lightning, water, all are used, and each is craftily evaded, or interrupted in some fashion by the sorceress. The two, growing smarter by the minute try a different strategy. They separate and launch an all out barrage against her. The combination is far too much to outright dodge, and she can't intercept all of them. That leaves shielding as the sole remaining choice. The translucent purple dome forms in a fraction of a second. Nimue braces herself._

_Under normal circumstances this is child's play to a legendary magic wielder such as her, however she has been at this for many hours, with almost no rest and sustenance. Every summoning, regardless of how small, requires a little life energy to power it. Complex summoning such as the specters, demand considerably more energy than a simple fireball or lightning bolt. The dome however, in a manner similar to the specters, constant is demanding small trickles. Whenever something strikes against it, life energy is used to counteract the affects, and maintain the protective fields. _

_With subsequent hits Nimue feels herself growing weaker. Until at long last her body gives in. Despite her attempts to stop the inevitable the dome disappears seconds later. The specters roar and offer one last blast before disappearing. Having no protection Nimue teleports to a nearby, clear patch of ground. The reverberations from the explosions she so recently avoided causing her to lose her footing. She falls to the ground in a heap, utterly exhausted and panting hard. _

Lost in the world of unconsciousness' green flames envelope and play on Alex's body. Clothes spark, then burn as natural and synthetic fibers reach their flash point and ignite. Skin, muscle, and hair as durable and resilient as biological entities may be, meet their match, and yield.

Nimue is gone. She has witnessed all she needs too. Alex is now lying on the living room carpet. A morbid combination of ash, and smoke continue to rise from the unmoving, burnt-blackened form.

* * *

The Ops Center is a hub of activity. In the last few hours staff have been recalled, vacations canceled, and all the deputy directors are either present, or on their way. The most recent mystery, two identical appearances on two continents is simply too much of a coincidence. Justin, a stickler for the book, and procedure follows it to the letter. This brings a lot of objection to co-workers to who believe he is being overly zealous, desperate to make favorable impressions on those higher above. What they fail to grasp is that, save for the Wizard Council there isn't anyone. His word is law.

That doesn't mean he isn't doubt himself right now. Choices of this magnitude are not reached easily. Often the consequences for a miscalculation for such radical decisions, especially if governed to be unwarranted, are quite grave.

"Sir, magic detectors have found a level 4 spell. Classification is D & D." A male voice calls out, in rushed, excited tone.

Justin's jaw drops. D & D stands for Dark & Demonic. The methodology, the reasoning, the purpose behind the spell being cast is beside the point. The spell rating, while interesting, is largely extraneous too. This changes everything. A demon being present is one thing; a demon spell casting is another. "Quadrant?"

"Still being determined Sir. The generalized location appears to be in the vicinity of the _Broken Talisman."_

The pulsing headache seems to increase as Justin recognizes the name. The bar caters to anyone, and doesn't ask questions. Most of the clientele want nothing to do with law, and police making the establishment a particularly disruptive, nasty place to investigate.

Justin is deep in thought, trying to devise alternatives when he knows only one response is acceptable. "Send a surveillance team, and keep me abreast of any changes. If _anything_ happens I want to know about it! Tracking and destruction of that target is priority number one."


	6. Chapter 6: Familiar Faces

**Ok. It has definitely been awhile since I last updated. To everyone I really apologize. However, I'm back with a vengeance! I'm actually on a roll! I did a duel-update, both my stories are getting new chapters at the same time! Please feel free to check out my other work (*hint *hint *nudge *nudge). I'm going to try desperately hard not to make you wait so long. Normally I won't plead, but it has been awhile since I got any reviews/feedback from anyone other then my betas. In addition to being incredibly awesome, and making me smile like a giggling idiot, I'd really, REALLY appreciate it! Even if it is to tell me you is off, or doesn't fit, or something you would like to see happen in the future.**

**As always, thanks again FanFicFemale, and my newest beta Alex Kade. Your hard work and amazing input definitely eased the difficulties I encountered.**

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 6:**

Ilazgo and his partner Oratug are the best the mirage hornets have to offer. They are the elite, the most skilled, and given the most difficult tasks. Eglavath summons the pair, but A'Kor'tha personally gives the mission briefing. The job is pretty simple, track the targets at all costs, sacrificing their lives if need be. That part is made abundantly clear, as failure is not an option.

That is why the two are chosen to begin with, they have never failed. Within hours of their deployment they skillfully navigate the treacherous cities humans have erected until they discover an establishment called the_ Broken Talisman_. The rafters make easy cover, and the two seamlessly blend into the stained wood. Eyes are focused on the two girls below. Unlike the other humans present the pair are glowing. Whether they realize their capabilities or not the two have powerfully strong magical auroras. Neither hornet has ever witnessed strength such as that being demonstrated before them now.

What is blatantly obvious is that A'Kor'tha is right. The two chattering girls are indeed worthy of being followed. Of course, the hornets are unable to decipher what either is saying, but that minor detail is irrelevant. What is important is staying with the targets, even as they leave the bar. When Stevie and Alex part ways, so do the hornets. Ilazgo, the senior of the pair, follows Stevie. Oratug trails Alex. Despite being separated Oratug and Ilazgo inherit the rare ability to communicate telepathically. While speech and thoughts may be passed to each other so may be images. These could be real, or imagined. This is yet another reason the two are chosen for this mission.

Ilazgo is able to follow Stevie all the way until she reaches her apartment. Unfortunately for him an invisible barrier prevents him from going any further the outside the doorframe. Stevie on the other hand is able to pass harmlessly right through. While frustrating the setback is of little consequence. She went inside and is bound to come out again. Simple logic for a dwelling that has but one entry-way.

Oratug has much better success and is able to violate the sanctity of Alex's residence. Perched on the ceiling everything that happens is carefully monitored, and watched. The green flames are of particular interest. Unlike most of what he has seen or heard thus far he recognizes this kind of magic. Regretfully this happened to be on the receiving end of the flames countless years ago in an attack that ended many thousands of lives. Needless to say, the re-emergence of such powerful forces is not reassuring. The spell to communicate with his master requires a mere minute to complete.

"Master, the girl is here. Her magical talent is considerably greater than we anticipated."

"Indeed?"

Large, unblinking eyes focus on Alex. The girl's skin or what is left of it is visibly charred; smoke still raising in dark grey wisps visible from the ceiling. The smell of burnt flesh permeates the room in a stench strong enough to cause violent reactions in most humans. However, being otherworldly Oratug is unaffected by such trivialities. "She disappeared in the other room for some time Master. I was unable to follow. Soon thereafter she returned collapsing to the floor engulfed in flames."

"Show me," is the expected command. On another distant world, A'Kor'tha sees what Oratug does. The previous important moments replayed back in Oratug's mind to better allow his master to understand what transgressed.

A'Kor'tha is silent for a moment absorbing the mental movie being played in his brain. He is prepared for the girl to have some magical talent, but not to a degree such as what he is witnessing. He also isn't prepared for the girl to have been foolish enough to decide to cease her life. Such a shame, he could have utilized strength like hers.

No point in fretting over a corpse. No point in wasting time watching over it either.

"Good work. Consider your part done. Proceed with stage two. Contact me when you are ready. You have the usual time frame. Rendezvous will be on the tallest building in the city. A structure called Empire State.

"It shall be done, Master. Should the spell caster's conjuring be of concern Sire?" Oratug, while death does not make him fearful, disappointing his God, A'Kor'tha is entirely different.

The response is slower than Oratug expects. "No. I would not worry about what has transpired. The foolish human, if alive, will soon be dead. Those injuries are quite serious. I have seen it before. If you find another such as her, notify me immediately. Otherwise I will speak to you when you are in place. I have other business to attend too."

The conversation ends as abruptly as it begins. Oratug disengages from the ceiling and exits through an open window, flying quickly towards the busy center of New York. Lazy, lumbering dark clouds slowly following that bring the promise of strong storms in the evening.

* * *

Gunfire ricochets through the neighborhood. Max crouches behind a brick wall as flecks of dust and stone, flake and fly. A sharp shard barely misses his eye, and to his left he hears a cry followed immediately by a curse of frustration.

"You alright, Bull?" He turns to look at his partner, blood running down in thin rivulets from a gouge on the cheek, right beside the nose.

"Yeah yeah it's nothing but a scratch. I've gotten worse shaving with glass," is the gruff response. "We've got to find a better spot. If we don't those sons of bitches are going to come up from behind and plug our asses."

Max chuckles. Mavin, better known as 'Bull' always has a colorful way of looking at situations. It is one of the reasons that the two are so frequently paired together. With similar work ethics, likes, and general distain for getting into sticky situations such as the one they are currently enjoying, it is a match made in heaven. That is if one is able to call this entire debacle a paradise.

After losing the Wizard Competition, Max works odd jobs for nearly a year before through a peculiar set of events finds himself in the police academy. Apparently someone else is watching because his frequent daring, and somehow successful gambles combined with his non-threatening attitude seem to make him ideal undercover material. The Federal Bureau of Investigation, better known as the FBI is quick to recruit him into the shadowy depths of destroying violent gangs from the inside. On the streets of New York, there are plenty to choose from.

Gun battles for neighborhoods, or turf is frequent as rival groups compete for territory. Particularly areas lucrative for drug sales, and prostitution. As with most illegal operations much of this is done outside the general reach of local law enforcement. Max, after accepting this highly dangerous undergoes additional training before signing up with one of the local and more violent gangs. Once inside finds fitting in surprisingly easy.

Bull inherits much of the same personality that Max does, except that he has a great sense of purpose, and strategy. Where Max's thought processes revolve around the abnormal, and just plain strange, Bull is almost logical to a fault. Since meeting each other in the abandoned parking garage the gang calls a home over a year ago the two have been able to accomplish some of the most startling heists, from jewelry and auto theft, to the trafficking of drugs. Of course, all of this is under the careful eye of the FBI.

That doesn't mean the job comes without dangers. Of course, Bull isn't undercover, and at times this has presented challenges to Max. Fortunately thanks to plenty of experiences from living with Alex he has ample amounts of time to learn from the Master, or in this case Mistress of covering your behind in a wall of lies nearly a foot thick.

None of this currently matters though. So successful Max and Bull have become that others, rival others, and are much happier to see them dead. Pistol shots erupt from across the street from two different locations. Another blast, likely a shotgun is a bit closer. Max isn't able to tell. He isn't thrilled with the idea of losing his head by appearing from out of cover.

"Damnit Maxi Pad," Bull complains, throwing in his original nickname, one that Max hates by the way. "I told you this was a setup!"

Max looks up just in time to see another fragment of stone land at his feet. "So it was a setup. It isn't like we haven't been through these before!" Sure they have been caught in a trap before, but never cornered by multiple shooters.

"Really?" Bull swears again before wiping the away the blood on his cheek with a sleeve. "Last time I checked we were trying to secure that fucking shipment of powder for an even hundred thou'. Not literally get my dumbass body riddled by an even hundred metal slugs." As the gunfire subsides for the moment he risks popping out of cover. Firing a round before huddling back, breathing hard. "I can't believe you forgot your piece. You dumb fuck! A little help would have been nice!" Max smiles. Good ol' Bull and his sewer spewing mouth.

"Would you like me to throw some rocks? I'm not a very good pitcher, but I sure can try. At least they won't be firing at you." Max quickly grabs a nearby grey and semi-rounded stone. "And there seems to be plenty of little stones for me to toss so I don't think I'll run out of ammunition either."

Bull surprises himself by chuckling. He also can't tell whether Max is being serious, or not. Either way Max's plan is just plain stupid, and he tells him that, loudly. "Are you trying to get a cap in your ass? If you weren't so goddamn funny I'd do that myself." Somehow this only makes him laugh harder. "Fuck me; you're going to get us both killed!"

As if to reinforce that notion more gunfire sounds. This time the clatter is more distant. The crash of glass, and a scream from somewhere to their right fills their ears. Another round hits the ground, landing mere inches from Max's foot, metal fragments marring his boots.

"Ya' know if that's an offer, I'd really prefer not to. I'm just not that into guys." Max says as he carefully picks up the piece of metal. The bullet has definitely seen better days, it is bent, and part of it is jagged. However, the size and weight make it stand apart it's unlike the others, elongated, heavier, and made of a different alloy. Max's training kicks in and he is able to identify the object quickly, it is from a rifle, likely automatic.

"It amazes me how useless you are. Somehow you occupy the same amount of space day after day and manage to survive without falling to the same assholes day after day!" Bull further gripes. The fact metal dart-like objects are still flying nearby doesn't seem to faze him as much as it did moments before. Then he notices the rifle round. "Is that what I think it is?" Bull's eyes grow darker.

"Yup. Which-"

"Which means we have overstayed our welcome," Bull finishes. "Any ideas on how to get out of here? I've got two rounds plus three in the barrel."

Max sighs. He may be reckless, but he isn't one who wants to see anyone dead, even if they are trying to put him into an early grave. "Might as well save em'. You can't even see them, and with a rifle out there somewhere you are history as soon as you appear. My vote. Cops."

Bull looks at Max thoughtfully before nodding. "You know I fucking hate that option," he says with disdain, spitting on the ground in disgust.

"Yup, all the more reason to use it. Now let's try to stay alive long enough to see those happy blue lights. Another few minutes should do be enough." Max smiles gleefully. "Unless you want to walk out there and try to negotiate. They might listen to you!"

If Bull's eyes are dark before, they might as well be midnight now. Happy and serious do not go together in his book. How the hell Max is able to charm his way through life so easily is beyond him. Frankly, he does not give a damn about it either. What does matter is that he is not going to be filled with cylindrical holes because of a giggling schoolgirl, or in this case, boy.

The one drawback, aside from weapon toting maniacs who would love nothing more than to shoot first, ask questions later on anyone who invades their territory is that many of these areas are quite a distance from police stations. While it is virtually guaranteed someone will end up calling the authorities, especially when bullets fly, many precious minutes may pass. In situations like the one Max and Bull are finding themselves in a minute often seems like a lifetime.

That is when movement attracts Max's attention. From a side alley a door opens, a large man wearing a stained white apron deposits a bulging bag of trash into one of the adjacent dumpsters. If weapons fire dissuades, or casts doubt in his mind as for their being any logical reason to be outside at that very moment he does not show it. Max continues to watch, diligent eyes searching for – and not finding any noticeable lock. If they are able to make a mad scramble over the twenty feet or so of mostly open terrain they should be able to run through the establishment to escape.

Quickly the possibility enters, and exits Max's mind. To him the risk is warranted. At least then they only have to worry about having a bullet enter their bodies. Plus, there is fairly decent chance that even if they are hit, it might hit something vital. Quick, and fast, painless and worry free death. In Max's brain it is a perfectly acceptable, reasonable risk that comes with the job description.

Everything seems to be going his way until he informs Bull. His reaction is also very typical. He offers a look that Max is only able to assume is a cross between insanity, stupidity, recklessness, and pure unconditional foolhardiness.

"Oh no! Hell no boy! I've stuck by you through everything, but not this! Nu-uh! No way! Count me out!" Bull is emphatic, even going as far as to throw his arms into the air and out of cover, waving frantically for added affect.

"You really won't try? But why not?" Max pouts, clearly insulted. "My plan will work. They always work!"

Bull looks at Max despairingly. The damn boy has a point. So _far_ his plans _somehow_ have been successful. Although he is certain that that is much more due to dumb luck rather than any manor of talent on the creator's part. "I can't believe you fucking did it again! I'm _listening_ to your fucked up idea _again. _I swear there is a God simply because someone hasn't managed to shoot something metal into me." Max's face brightens considerably upon hearing this news, he already moving into a crouching position. "You lead. I'll follow."

Max waits as another volley of rounds rains down around them before dashing out from behind the wall. He sprints towards the nearby door.

"God help me now," Bull says before he joins Max, following a mere step behind. "If I get shot in the ass your paying my bills! Maxi Pad! You hear that!"

"Quit whining, more running!" Max screams in rely before throwing open the door. Bull crashing through a second later, the pair slamming it shut just in time to stop the hail of retaliatory fire. "Told you it would work!" Max says triumphantly, panting and out of breath.

"We're not out of this yet Max, com' on," Bull responds seriously before walking off. He ignores the stares of those working in the restaurant, maneuvering around through the kitchens until making it to the store entrance. Casually they walk through the doorway, and into the violence-free outside, a street away.

Out of reflux Max flinches, expecting the 'pop, pop' sound of gunfire to pursue, but it never does. In the clear the two run off, changing directions frequently as they make slow progress back to their hideout. Mere streets away the two walk around the same block three times to ensure they are not being followed before disappearing under a dilapidated chain link fence, hopping a shallow concrete drainage canal and entering into destitute remains of the parking garage.

Year's prior the entire complex used to be a prosperous garment factory. Despite its closing the adjoining area still remained prosperous due to heavy investment by local businesses. However as the generations changed and money ebbed away, little by little so did the area. Within a mere decade the luxury of the past is all but a memory. From a trendy, high value real estate, in twenty years to abandon slums. The gang calls the three-story parking garage, and adjoining facilities their own.

All manner of dirt, grime, and ageless grit cover the floor. Faded lines of antiquated paint and rusted hulks of sporadically placed vehicles lie about. Groups of teens, boys and girls mill about. Some take interest in the ancient television broadcasting modern shows. The cable and power like most of the items present, furniture included are stolen.

None of this seems to matter to Bull whom as soon as he is inside runs straight into the largest group. Many of them are his friends, and soon he is happily smoking from a cigarette. Bull waves tries waving Max over to join them. He politely declines with the shake of his head. If something else is inside the cancer-sticks Max doesn't know, and would prefer not to find out. He may gamble with his life every day, but he isn't downright stupid. Plus, the FBI would have his ass if they even thought he was involved with something like illicit drugs.

Max is brought out of his thoughts by Bull shaking his shoulders vigorously; hard enough Max is sure his brain is rattling around in his skull. "Earth to Max." He raps a knuckle against Max's head, knowing fully that Max's eyes are fully centered on him. "You there?"

"I'm here! What is it?" Max calls out in exasperation, looking at Bull quizzically.

"You sure? You don't look sure." Bull hits Max again on the head to double check. Causing Max to curse. This time Max realizes that Bull isn't alone. Standing beside him is a tall figure, likely over six feet, and wearing an expensive suit, shined black shoes, and tie. That is definitely out of place.

"Was that really necessary?" inquires Max, rubbing his scalp to soothe the bruise that he is sure is forming.

"Nope. I did it for fun."

"Oh. Ok. Guess that makes sense." Although it really doesn't which is why Max simply goes with it. Sometimes you have to agree with Bull just because. This is one of those moments. "What is so important that I'm able to take you away from your smoke break?"

"Maxi Pad. I'm wounded." Bull makes gesture as if he was shot in the heart. "What makes you think all I care about is a ciggy break?"

Max grins. "Because we both know that is all that matters."

Bull grins. After all, Max is right. If the nicotine doesn't kill him then the bullets will. Might as well live life to the fullest. "Yeah well, I've got someone who you need to meet."

"Not right now." Max shakes his head dismissively, and is about to walk off. "All I want to do is go find my couch and lose a couple of hours on it."

The firm hands on Max's shoulders prevent him from doing any sort of thing. Angrily Bull leans over, hissing into Max's ear. "Listen, numb-skull. You don't really have a choice. See," he forcefully grips Max's chin, turning his head so he is looking at the man in the suit. "That my friend is the Boss. When he wants to talk. You talk. When he wants you to piss, you piss. When he wants you to shit, you shit. Get it? Try anything stupid and a piece of lead in your sorry ass will be the least of your worries. Get it?" The stone cold stare Max is receiving leaves no room for disagreement. Besides, the FBI has wanted as much information on this guy as possible.

Numbly as if in a trance Max extends his hand; strangely he feels no fear what so ever. "Max, a pleasure to meet you, Sir." Wisely he decides to add the small token of respect. Apparently that is the correct etiquette because a black-gloved hand grips his own, and shakes firmly.

"Ah yes. Maximillian. I've heard so much about you, many good things, and not only from my respectable associate here." He clasps Max about the shoulders, Bull following a step behind the pair. "Please, call me Boss."

"Actually, Sir it's Max, not Maximillian." That particular confusion isn't all that infrequent so he is not offended.

"Nonsense boy! Maximillian is a perfectly fine name, befitting your heritage. It does not do you justice to not use it properly." His grip tightens slightly around Max, before dismissing Bull off with a wave. "Come, come! We have much to discuss!"

"Of course Sir!" Max isn't quite sure what to say. He isn't quite sure what 'heritage' the Boss is referring too. If he means Max's heritage, well the Boss is out of luck. Max never heeded what his parents ever said about their family roots. Even most of their names escape him. Whatever the case, Max smartly chooses to ignore the small tidbit. If the Boss is happy, that is all that matters in the end. "May I ask what the subject of choice is going to be Sir?"

The Boss smiles, "Why you of course. You see, it is about time you become officially initiated into my little organization." He continues to lead a thoroughly confused Max deeper into part of the building he has never seen before. The room actually looks nice, has carpet, a desk, chairs, and is clean. The Boss gestures to one of the polished pieces of furniture, and Max sits.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, sir." To the best of Max's knowledge initiation usually begins by being jumped in. This is a cruel practice where a person has to survive a thorough beating by his peers, ending when a set time limit expires. Does this mean he won't have to go through this? He hopes so, but does that mean the alternative is any better?

"Yes, well, this is a bit new to me I will confess." The man in front of Max says. "From the expression on your face you realize this too. That is good. You aren't as stupid as most of my… subordinates happen to be."

"Umm… thank you sir." Max isn't quite sure where line of conversation is heading. The uncertainty traced across his face is exactly what the Boss loves to see.

"I have a job for you," he pauses to open a desk drawer, rummaging around through it before taking out a manila folder. "This is for you." Offering the entire package to Max.

Curiosity piqued Max takes the file, and opens it. Several pages and photos of some executive decorate the interior. Max takes out one of the papers, and quickly scans the document. What little he does read does not help ease the confusion. "What is this? Is this some sort of joke?" All of the information assembled in front of Max refers to some toy company called _The Box of Paranormal, Magic, and Illusions_.

"Nope. No joke." Casually the Boss takes out a cigarette. He offers one to Max politely. Max declines while he takes a lighter out of his pocket, before inhaling deeply. "Ah, I needed that," he exclaims as the nicotine races merrily through his bloodstream. "So, what do you think? You caught on yet?"

"No sir. I don't have a clue." Max replies truthfully.

At this the Boss grins knowingly. "Well, let me put the pieces together for you then. I want you to kill this man." Wordlessly he reaches into the same open drawer, pulling out a black and white photograph.

Max is chilled to the bone. Not that he must murder someone, but at the brute sincerity, the true malice, a serious discussion that is being reduced to something as uncomplicated as choosing a pair of shoes. "Why?"

"I want him dead. You don't need another reason." The resulting glare is one that tells Max the Boss is not one to be second-guessed.

Dangerously Max decides to push his luck a little bit further. "Normally I'd agree with you," resisting the urge to vomit he acts as casually as he can, twirling the picture between his fingers. "But to assassinate a toy company exec seems a bit lame doesn't it? Where's the fun in that?"

The Boss frowns even more deeply. "Maximillian. I had you figured all wrong. I was expecting you to back out like the sissy boy I thought you were. Now I see you are truly a man who takes after my own heart." The beginnings of a smile trace his face. "You grasp the moment, and strangle it with your own two hands! I like that!"

Max is speechless. "Umm… thank you sir! I'm honored!"

"Is what I ask too much to be expected?"

"No. It shouldn't be a problem at all. I don't understand why we are killing such a useless person. He seems trivial," Max says in thought, studying the picture again. Something seems familiar about the man in black, and white. He simply can't remember why.

The boss shrugs his shoulders. Clearly he doesn't care. "Don't know. Don't care. Not my concern. Their green is as good as any other. That's all that matters in the end."

_Money should have thought of that earlier. Why is it always money? _Max keeps his thoughts to himself and nods. "Upfront payment?"

"Of course. Something of this magnitude wouldn't be accepted unless it were in big stacks of green." He smirks knowingly. "Or yellow as is the case."

"Yellow?" _What kind of money is yellow? _Did Max miss some sort of memo on the subject? The answer comes in the form of a bar. The heavy material makes a 'thunk' as it is dropped upon the desk.

"Gold?" Max's widen into saucers, mouth agape. "Is that gold?"

"Yup. Sure is, and plenty more where that comes from. Get the idea now?" If Maximillian doesn't then he may have to question whether he should be initiated to begin with. No one can be as stupid as to not understand the motive.

"Definitely." Max is still in shock, trying to process where a lowly gangster is getting access to such a massive source of wealth. Surely the FBI never anticipated something like this before. If they had and decided not to tell him… Well wouldn't be the first time, he muses.

"For now, let's just keep this as our little secret." The Boss extends his hand out to Max. "Comprende'?"

Max shakes the hand, hoping his skin isn't too cold, or that the trembling is noticeable.

"Good. Good! Excellent! Show this…" He glances at one of the papers for a second, before smiling again, white pearly teeth showing. "Justin… yes that is it! Justin, how much his life is worth in gold?"

"It will be my pleasure," Max says merrily, shaking the proffered hand a bit harder before laughing.


	7. Chapter 7: Bloody Revelations

**I'm going to be really honest, I'm getting demoralized by the lack of reviews. **

**The feedback, and encouragement makes all the hard work pay off. It also makes me want to write more. Updates tend to come a lot sooner too. So please, PLEASE make my day! If you don't want to leave a public review anonymous reviews is enabled (always has been) and please, feel free to message me anytime.  
**

**Ok. *Sigh* Rant over!**

**I've got to say this MAJOR kudos to stepsteptrip. Your suggestions and advice were taken to heart. I think this chapter is a lot better because of them. **

**FanficFemale, and Alex Kade, as always, incredible work. The continued ideas for pacing, and organization helped so much!**

**Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violent battle.**

* * *

**Chapter 7:**

Stevie knocks on the door in front of her. She waits for a second expecting to hear at least footsteps from the other side. When none sound she tries again. This time she pounds harder using the side of her fist to ensure there is no way Alex may miss the noise. Still nothing.

_Damn it Alex. You better not be stuck in bed again. I swear to god. If you are sleeping again…! _After all, _she_ is the one who insisted that Stevie should come over in the first place. This wouldn't be the first time that this has happened either. Alex either forgetting entirely, or deciding that living under her pillow is preferable to getting up and moving her lazy butt the incredibly exhausting distance of thirty feet to allow Stevie entrance.

That does not mean that Stevie does not have means of getting into Alex's apartment. Months ago Alex revealed to her that the window furthest from the door, but still part of the living room was frequently unlocked. More often then not it wasn't only unlocked, but downright open. As Stevie navigates to the location she sees that the pane of glass is an inch or so above the painted, wooden frame.

What surprises Stevie is the foul stench emanating from the opening. Even more alarming the black-like substance that allows no glimpse into the disgusting smelling interior. Concerned, Stevie puts her face right up to the glass, trying to peer past what ever the grime is coating inside. All that she is able to make out are the vague outlines of furniture. No lights appear to be on which further adds to the mysterious shadows.

"Alex, if you're in there you had better say something or I'm coming in!" Stevie hits the glass loudly with her knuckles, much like she did on the door previously. The glorious racket should be noisy enough to disturb even the legendary sleeper. Another moment passes before she tries again. Stevie curses, making a promise that Alex's ass is going to get kicked as soon as the opportunity presents itself. This is getting ridiculous.

_Fuck this shit. That's it. Alex is dead! _"DEAD with a capital 'D'." The last sentence is spoken out loud. Stevie's temper finally gets hold of her normally rational thinking brain. Using both hands she pulls up on the window. The wooden frame resists for a second before reluctantly yielding with a high squeal. With the bottom half of the window now raised, sunlight is now allowed to peak inside. The overwhelming stench of burnt flesh assaults Stevie's nose before her eyes are able to find the source of the smell. When the do, Stevie pales. Shock. Fear. Unadulterated horror race through Stevie's blood stream as she sees the unmoving form of Alex.

"ALEX, OH MY GOD, ALEX!" Stevie screams. _I didn't mean for her to be DEAD! GOD! Please don't let it be true! _"ALEX!" Stevie shrieks again. She can't move through the window fast enough, not caring at all about the risk of the unsteady window slamming unexpectedly down upon her neck as she dives through, racing to Alex's side. The sunlight doesn't provide nearly enough illumination and Stevie stands, flicking on a switch to turn on the overhead lights. She almost wishes she hadn't.

Pure dread fills Stevie's body. She is able to physically feel the horror. It is like a terrifying chill that flows through her body, down one side and back up at the other at the sight of her fallen friend. So strong are the cascading emotions that it is leaving her feeling faint and ill.

The girl is lying face down on the carpeted floor. Most of her clothing is missing. The few remains are tattered rags. Whatever color they had been before is marred, and distorted. The lustrous, curly waves of hair are matted, caked in soot and ash. The once even ends are completely mismatched, regions of her scalp actually bald, devoid not only of hair, but skin too. Burns cover almost all of her body. The few patches of uninjured flesh are hidden by grey, and black. Stevie is glad she isn't able to see Alex's face. She isn't sure she would be able to stomach should a sight.

Unfortunately for Stevie, the first attempt to find a pulse fails. Instead of finding that certain spot along the jugular artery, her fingers come back red, and black, with bits of skin. Tears flow down Stevie's face in torrents as the unfiltered trepidation reaches a crescendo, one that only grows into overwhelming timpani's of fear, and agony. The moment seems to drag on for hours as she prays, wills, pleads, for her friend to somehow be alive, realizing that in all likelihood, however this happened, Alex isn't going to wake from her eternal slumber.

"Alex… Alex... What have you done…? Why…?" The questions, the confusion go unanswered. She was always aware that Alex was unhappy with her life, and the direction she chose to take. Regardless of the depression, never in Stevie's wildest, most evil thoughts did she ever conceive that her beloved friend was suicidal. Yet, the evidence is directly in front of her disbelieving, tear-stinging eyes.

Stevie carefully turns her friend over, a finger delicately stroking the remnants of the raven curls she so secretly admires. The other hand supports Alex's neck, avoiding the region around her throat, and side of her face that is so terribly twisted.

Despite the incredible amount of damage to Alex's body, Stevie cannot help but think that even in death Alex looks astoundingly beautiful, peaceful, her eyes closed, body motionless. A touch to the neck, another to the wrist, and then the elbow, with still no pulse, no sign of life, Stevie gives in to the torture, sobs from deep inside bubbling to the surface in a rush she cannot control. Alex was the only person who accepted Stevie, the flawed girl, the lying, deceitful devil child. She was the one person who did not care that she is a broken individual. Alex was utterly happy to overlook all the mistakes, all the terrors, all of the incredibly awful person Stevie has come to embrace as her own reality known as Hell.

Where others see her as tyrant destined for evil. Alex emerged as a beacon of light in the darkness, a glimmer of hope amongst the shadows. Alex befriended the tormented soul and somehow broke through the tough exterior to nurture the sensitive, inquisitive curiosity of the young girl within. The fact that the friendship was quite new did not seem to matter either. The middle Russo, for all of her faults, and quirky methodologies, was able to successfully touch the stone-cold heart of Stevie in a way that had never happened before, or since. Both realized that a full-fledged relationship was impossible, but neither cared in the least. The two were forever inexplicably linked. The bound they shared went beyond simple friendship, and into something considerably more powerful.

Stevie weeps not because she lost a friend, but because she is cradling the body of her Alex, her _best _friend, her sister. Unsure whether the candle of hope burning within her heart will ever be relit again, whether the promise for a new future has been forever silenced, Stevie locks herself away in her personal prison once more.

* * *

_Alex is alone in the middle of a stone-debris filled road. From the appearance of the sky she muses that it is mid-morning. The temperature is strangely comfortable with the sun shining brilliantly overhead. The rays of light make it all the more obvious that a disaster of sorts seems to have struck the town. In the distance, proud, tall stalk-like plants are lined into neat rows. Thick black, rolling clouds of smoke leech into the sky. The flicker of yellow-orange confirms that the conflagration isn't limited to only the town, but their foodstuffs too. Closer by, bodies are strewn about. Many of them are terribly burnt__,__ and twisted in their death grips. The structures lining the street are similar in appearance. Flames continue to dance__,__ and gyrate merrily through still-burning rafters, straw, and roofs. The smell of ash, burning wood, and the occasional stench of flesh assault her senses, causing her to cough. She covers her mouth and nose with a shirt-covered arm. However, none of this offers clues to the tragedy. _

_"Welcome Alex." The voice is strangely familiar, but the figure that it originates from is draped in a purple cloak that conceals all features._

_Alex is startled. She hasn't seen anyone, or any hints of life. Instantly she is on her guard, both hands balling into fists despite staying at her sides. "Where am I?" Alex looks at the person with a strange look. "Who are you? What is this place?" She isn't able to hide the wonder from her voice._

_Distinctly feminine hands remove the cloak. As with the voice, the features, the hair, everything is recognizable. No matter how hard Alex tries she still isn't able to place a name with the face, and that frustrates her immensely. Then in an instant a name appears in Alex's mind._ Nimue. _Instantly the forgotten anger resurfaces within Alex, and with a vengeance. The powerful emotion becomes known to Nimue too as she recognizes the facial expressions._

_"Ah. I see you remember me. That is good. A very positive indicator that you are indeed making progress." Nimue smiles at Alex in an attempt to diffuse some of the anger._

_"NOT YOU AGAIN! " The tactic doesn't work. Alex's scowl of contempt only grows larger. "What the fuck do I have to do to get rid of you for good? Why can't you leave me alone in my own happy hell?" Now Alex is screaming. "IS THAT SO HARD FOR YOU TO COMPREHEND?"_

_Nimue looks back at Alex serenely, not caring at all about the sudden outburst. "If it were that simple I would. Do you truly believe that I _want _to be here?" That response startles Alex, and leaves her speechless. Nimue smirks before continuing. "You are far from the ideal candidate." She raises a hand to prevent the interruption she knows is coming. "Before you ask, I don't know why you are the One."_

_None of this seems to matter to Alex. None of this makes much sense to the girl either, which probably furthers her incentives for not caring that much. "What does being the 'One' mean?"_

_"What it means, Alex my dear is that you are destined to have a glorious future." Nimue smiles at the girl, not caring that all she is doing is furthering Alex's discomfort. "You, willing or not, will be Queen. My duty is to prepare you for your soon-to-be emerging responsibilities."_

_"Yeah, you keep saying that. Why me? I'm not fit to be a queen. I don't want to be one! Find someone else." Alex is growing frustrated, and when she gets irritated things have a tendency to break. Unfortunately in this case pretty much everything nearby is already broken, or smoldering. She decides that Nimue's nose will suffice as a great substitute, her fists balling tightly _

_"If it were that simple I would," Nimue replies as she crosses her arms in front of her chest. Unworriedly she notes Alex's growing anger. "You see there are forces out of my control. And those ultimately steer our direction in life. You must cope with your future the best you can… Princess." The word choice is deliberate._

_Alex scoffs openly at this notion. She kicks a flaming piece of wood watching as it tumbles, and rolls along the road. "Don't ever call me that again." Her voice is harsh, and abrasive. "I'm no princess. I'm not royalty, and if you still don't get it through your fucked up head, I'll make sure I'm nothing but a royal pain in your ass!" _

_The tone is not missed on Nimue, but she does not allow it to be a concern either. She has thrown some pretty memorable imperial temper tantrums in her time too. Whatever Alex is able to muster she has seen worse. That still does not explain all the hostility seething from every pore within the girl. Carefully Nimue stops Alex with a gentle touch to the shoulder. "Why do you harbor such anger towards me? I desire nothing but to help you in your journey?"_

_"Help? You want to help me?" Alex is incredulous. So much so in fact that she almost feels like laughing. "How?" Alex mimics Nimue's posture, her arms too crossing in contempt._

_"Before I continue. I must ask for you to trust me." The demand is rather extreme, but given the circumstances must be made. Nimue may ill-afford a confrontation over what may be the most pivotal conversation of the young Russos' life._

_Alex raises an eyebrow suspiciously at Nimue. "Trust is earned," Venom filled contempt leeches through every word, "not given."_

_Nimue nods. "Quite correct. I did not ask you to do so permanently. Is a temporary arrangement possible?"_

_Whatever fury residing within Alex does not silently disappear. Instead the hostility is tampered, locked away by a cage of curiosity, intrigue, and desperation. The incredible need to understand why all of her conceptions of the magical world have been turned on their head. That is why against what is perhaps Alex's better judgment she allows the notion to fester in her mind. After a moment of intense pondering the answer is obvious. The howling of protests from the corner of her mind are cruelly silenced once__,__ and for all with a simple sentence. _

_"You had better start talking. And fast." Alex impatiently snaps. "I'm not going to sit around forever. So get to it before I ignore you again."_

_Nimue is able to sustain her expression of tranquil serenity. Alex's attitude is utterly overlooked. "There is a legend-"_

_"No! I don't want to hear it!" Alex rages, infuriated. "I asked for an explanation not some half-assed, fucking fairytale from who-the-hell-knows-when-it-was-written!"_

_The outburst does not surprise Nimue, and like before she accepts the cry in stride. Looking bored she calmly gazes back at Alex. "Are you finished? I really would prefer to not be interrupted again." She sighs. "You already have gone against your word, I remind you."_

_"Yeah, but I want to know, not a history lesson."_

_"The two are one-and-the-same. If you want to know, shut up, and listen. Otherwise do us both a favor and save me the effort of wasting my breathe on a silly child who does not respect her betters!" Nimue's voice matches Alex's and for the first time shows signs of true agitation. They are designed to be unkind, and purposely stinging. Nimue has long mastered the art of handling recalcitrant pupils. Alex is no exception. The expression of shock, and then bashful ashamedness that crosses the other girls' face truly reflects that Nimue has succeeded in her goal._

_"I'm sorry. You're right. Hurry up. I don't like waiting." Alex replies to which Nimue smiles._

_"Nor do I. I will try to make it brief." Nimue begins walking, gesturing for Alex to keep stride. "As I was saying. There is a legend. Skipping all of the dramatics the story may be summarized as a prophecy. The time line is impossible to tell for sure, but be assured, it will be relatively short for the changes to occur. At first they will seem innocuous, and not attract suspicion. However, all of these small events will culminate in the revitalization of The Cursed One. His appearance will usher in a new era of magic. One that has not been seen for countless millennia, and at its conclusion will see the end of humans as the dominant species on Earth." Nimue watches Alex carefully noting the subtle facial expressions change on the girl. She absorbs the information diligently, remaining quiet for another moment__,__ or two, processing everything that has been said thus far._

_"The Cursed One?" Alex asks. She would have vastly preferred the official name instead of a moniker._

_Nimue nods her head. "Before you ask, I realize your next question. It is quite valid, but I cannot offer much more than this. According to the texts he goes by many names. As contradictory I am unable to give you one. I did not have ample time to finish the translation. I was able to determine that his power is great. He commands a large army which is devotedly loyal, and willing to heed his orders with no fear of death."_

_"You're talking in riddles. You've told me nothing." Alex says as she stops walking, grabbing on to Nimue's shoulder to make her pause too. "I want answers. So far you've given me the most generic answer possible. I. Want. Details. Now." _

_"Then let us start at the beginning. You are capable of wielding magic, yes?" Nimue inquires although she knows the answer already._

_"What kind of question is that?" Then Alex remembers that Nimue could not be familiar with the Wizard Competition. Her tone changes abruptly, and into something less harsh. "No. No I'm not. At least… Not anymore."_

_"I see, but you were at one time?" The question is asked in such a manner as for Alex to be able to tell that more elaboration is expected._

_Anxiously Alex rubs her forehead with both palms of her hands, as if to smooth a splitting headache. Long buried memories resurface painfully. Somehow those feelings are not blatant, and go unnoticed by Nimue. "I lost the Wizard Competition to my older brother, Justin. Prior to entering all of us, my younger brother Max, Justin, and I had to merge our collective magic together. Justin won it all, Max and I got nothing."_

_This revelation startles Nimue as she restrains the harsh intake of breath as to not alert Alex. This changes everything. Suddenly the ancient words, translated so many years prior make that much more sense. The question now is not a matter of what should be done, but whether Alex is prepared for the truth. "Yet, despite your loss at this… Competition… you are able to continue to practice magic. How are you able to account for this inconsistency?" As before Nimue is fully aware of the answer, but harbors desire to hear Alex's reasoning nonetheless._

_Alex shakes her head vigorously. "No. You don't get it. My powers were taken away. I can't do anything!"_

_"So you said, but simply because you say it does not mean my point is any less true." Nimue logically points out._

_"What makes you so certain I am capable of doing magic anymore?" Alex challenges. After all, the rules for the Wizard Competition are quite simple – and brutal, in their implications. Nimue remains silent as Alex contemplates the question herself. After a minute her eyes widen. Now it is her turn to be speechless, all those dreams night after night! _

_"No! It can't be! Those were your entire fault! You made those spells!" Alex yells. "Don't lie to me!" The anger having been built up for so long erupts in an explosion of rage. Finally the balled fists find an opportunity, her right hand emerging at lightening speed, racing towards the bridge of the older woman's nose._

_"Alex. I wish what you say is true," Nimue says genuinely sad, catching one fist with a gentle palm. The other balled hand is caught in a likewise fashion before squeezing both carefully prior to releasing them. The gesture is intended to show Alex she means no harm despite the retaliatory strike. "But I would be doing you a great disservice by not being truthful. I am not the cause. Encouraged, coaxed, perhaps, but cast, no. You are responsible. That magic is by your hand, and your hand alone. Striking me down, even if the fault is mine, will not make the truth, or the deed go away."_

_The true shock is beginning to sink in. Alex isn't sure whether she should be enraged, sad, or hurt. The incredible cacophonies of emotions swirl together like a collage of foods that make one's stomach violently ill, the nausea building until it threatens to make itself known upon the charred stones below. One word above all is at the forefront of her confused mind. "Why?"_

_In a sisterly manner Nimue approaches Alex, then embraces her about the shoulders. "Alex, a great conflict is inevitable. I don't know how. I don't know why, but fate has chosen you. I am charged with the great responsibility of ensuring that you are prepared."_

_"Prepared for what?" Alex asks sniffling. Her mind is still reeling from the previous revelation._

_"Prepared to save your way of life, your future, your world. Like it or not Alex Russo whether the human race remains free, or bound in chains to ancient magic is now on your shoulders." Nimue calmly explains._

_"How are you so sure that this fantastical person is me? I'm a worthless street rat." As the words leave Alex's mouth the pain within her heart intensifies, echoing one of the last conversations she had with her lost brother Justin._

_"I'm here aren't I?" Nimue responds as she tilts Alex's eyes upwards to meet her own._

_"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Confusion is still laced in the liquid brown orbs. They search for any shred of hope to desperately cling too._

_"I'm sure, Alex Russo, because over one thousand years ago my empire became embroiled in a terrible war. The likes of that have never been seen since. This was not a conflict only waged by fellow man, but one that was fought against the Hell spawn from the Great Beyond. You see, strong as the magic you have seen thusly in your young life pales in comparison to that which actually exists. Long forgotten antediluvian magic subsists in the shadows if one is aware of where to look. Many of these were forbidden in my time. Practicing such craft was punishable by immediate death. What you see around you is the penalty for deceit." Nimue turns Alex around to make the other girl see the tattered remains of the still burning town._

_Slowly the ramifications sink into the depths of Alex's mind. "Are you saying… that you killed these people because they were using magic?"_

_"Not simply magic Alex, but forbidden spells, dark arts." From the look of hostility Nimue correctly assumes Alex does not believe her explanation. "A fortnight prior I sent an ambassador in the hope of resolving the situation without bloodshed. Instead she was shackled, bound, and cruelly interrogated, tortured rather, and her burned out, hollow skull returned to my palace."_

_Alex's face turns ashen, the already sick feeling intensifying ten-fold. Nothing resembles anything even close to sense anymore. Night after nightmare-filled night she is able to blame all of the terrible atrocities on one single person: Nimue. Now those grotesque images are the result not of Nimue, but of her attempts to prevent those horrible depictions of blood, suffering, and death to spread further. That is, if she is capable of believing the words of the speaker. _

_Unperturbed by any of the questionable looks Alex is offering the sorceress Nimue continues. "Contrary to what you may believe, I do not kill needlessly. They," gesturing to the burning remnants of the town, "were given the chance to resolve themselves of their sins. They made the choice to not heed the warnings. I could not allow their challenge to peace to go unopposed."_

_Alex pushes away from Nimue, her eyes blazing with the intensity of the sun. "Justice? Fine! I get that! I can even accept the need for some of them to be punished! But you, YOU killed EVERYONE!" The pitch of Alex's voice indicates just how strongly she feels about the subject. Anger once more flows merrily through her veins. "Not only the guilty, but women, and children too! Those that didn't die outright you promised a slow and painful death! You burned down their homes, their barns, and then incinerated their livestock, and food! How to you explain that you murderous monster!" The unacceptable lies Nimue is spilling must cease, no longer will she listen to the pile of bullshit that is spewing from the woman's mouth._

_Nimue allows Alex to separate herself, but keeps herself no more than a few paces apart. "Yes Alex. I did. There was no other choice-"_

_"Of course there was another choice!" Alex screams. "There is always another way, but you didn't even fucking try! Even if they were guilty you allowed them to suffer! You didn't kill them outright, you let them ebb away into nothing from starvation! You aren't a queen! You're a demon from the depths of Hell!"_

_"Were you not listening a moment previously? My loyal servant was tortured! I extended my hand, a peaceful hand, and instead they removed it along with any hope for peaceful co-existence." Tentatively Nimue approaches Alex having noted that the overwhelmed girl is now sobbing quietly. Alex is staring at the ground in disarray, jumping when Nimue touches her shoulder._

_"Don't touch me! You're a demon from Hell!" Alex shrieks while whipping around to violently remove the offending limb._

_If Nimue is surprised by the exclamation she, as previously, makes no indication of being affected in the least. "I see you don't believe me still."_

_Fuming Alex replies, "Why should I? You haven't given me one, ONE fucking shred of evidence, when I've seen first hand your ruthlessness. To me you're nothing but a monster."_

_The words sink in for a minute. Alex is startled to see that Nimue does not immediately respond like she normally has done. The reason for the pause is because Nimue isn't sure whether to provide the substantiation that Alex is demanding. Alex has been through quite a lot in the past day__,__ or two and another trauma may pose risk to her sanity. Unhappily Alex does not seem to be offering any other alternative besides the very one she is dreading._

_"Follow me, and you shall have your proof." Nimue steps forward unhurriedly. She is in no rush to revisit this particular location. In fact if she had her way the entire region would be utterly pacified. However, at present, convincing a skeptical Alex is a much higher priority. That is why she swallows down the flood of dismay building in her heart._

_Caught unsuspected Alex discovers a position where she has no option but to trail after Nimue. The reasoning for doing so isn't clear. Thoughts like pride, and honor insist on not heeding the request simply on the basis there is no reasoning to do so. In complete contrast more ideals such as an intrusive curiosity further sunder an already stressed mind. They persevere on allowing Nimue the opportunity for the sake of explanations' and condemn the bitch after._

_What actually occurs is the outcome of having found a compromise that suits all the warring parties in her head. Alex, from a young age always strives to allow a person, even if they may amount to the female variant of Hitler, the chance to prove their innocence. Nimue is presenting the possibility to alleviate these former sins. If Nimue is capable of admitting, or proving her actions are moral, than pride, honor, and curiosity are all satisfied. If not, well, Alex does not yet have a good method of resolution for such events should they prove undesirable._

_Footstep after footstep Alex allows Nimue to lead her down the debris-ridden street. The stench of burning flesh, the sight of charred skin, shattered livestock fills her eyes, and ears. The quietness is startling to a shocked soul, somehow far exceeding the terror from the cries of the dying that haunts her night after panic filled night. The misery only grows as Nimue approaches a building that Alex vividly remembers. The stonework is unmistakable. _

_The entire village is almost universally constructed out of wood. Occasionally bricks mark the appearance of a particularly wealthy merchant, or influential politician. The great exception to this is the church. Aside from the incredible craftsmanship being placed into the structure, exceedingly elegant efforts have been made to ensure that the building is special. In addition to being the highest structure in the community it is made of brilliant white stone. Even more odd are the colorful stained glass perched sophisticatedly between the high archways. Alex cannot know the process, but each panel requires hours__,__ upon hours of work, and each window is comprised of dozens of them. The mosaics offer an illustrated view into the religion that its followers adamantly worshipped. _

_Alex recalls the petrifying sight of the steeple crashing down upon the cowering people, the way Nimue's dragon contently blasted streams of fire into the chapel. The new perspective of the warzone is shocking to one that is becoming aguishly familiar with death and destruction. Nimue on the other hand, seems quite unaffected. She is stepping over the littered shards, the symbols of a prosperous community as if it is a second nature._

_Remnants of the bell tower adorn the ground, the church unfairly decapitated by the blade-like efficiency of a dragons' wing. Few of the beautiful windows remain intact. Some are cruelly twisted, warped, the intense flames having melted the material until it turned into a thick, lava-like substance. Beginning to now cool the pieces of art are turned into perverse glass creations of congealed sludge, curved spirals, and icicles. Those that have not been transformed lie in bits and pieces along the floor. Flames lick at the exposed timbers from the caved-in roof__,__ and pews. Smoke of all shades and hues darken the interior and stone. Alex takes all of these sights in, resisting the urge to run outside in fear. The air is rank with death, and she is aware of the growing awareness of nausea._

_Still Nimue leads Alex onwards towards the back of the dying structure. Strangely the back wall is largely intact despite most of the upper works having been torn asunder. A painting of some sort covers the stone face, but Alex is unable to make out the pictures. Most are obscured in blacks by the smoke. The region around the top corners is missing entirely. Even more outlandish to Alex is the presence of an all raised black altar. Carved deep into the peripherals of the hard stone are thin, almost imperceptible groves. Upon closer inspection Alex realizes that those are more like miniature canals, spiraling around to form an eccentric pattern etched both on the altar__,__ and floor. Curiosity overrides her fear of the unknown, and Alex reaches out to touch the textured surface._

_"Don't!" Nimue insists, rushing forward to prevent Alex from doing so. "I wouldn't if I were you." Alex offers a look of disbelief. "You wanted your proof Alex. Here, upon this dais, is your attestation."_

_Alex remains mystified, and her stare at Nimue makes it rather unambiguous that this is not an explanation, at least not one that is comprehensible to her. "You've got to do better than this."_

_"Look around you. Are we in agreement this is a church, yes?" Alex cautiously nods. "Do you recognize any of the figures?"_

_Having not investigated thoroughly before, Alex does so again. The task is rather difficult since so few pictures remain, and those that do aren't in the best condition. On the wall high above is what appears to be an insect of some sort, but it is of a type that Alex cannot ever recall seeing. Vaguely the creature resembles a dark yellow hornet. What are swiftly obvious are the hugely enlarged mandibles. Their tips seem to be painted a dark crimson. Beneath that lies the desiccated skeleton of some unfortunate creature. While a violent pictorial Alex cannot help__,__ but note the regal elegance of the posture, the arrangement of the setting. Everything combines to undeniably symbolize that whoever, whatever this person, or thing is is quite important. Alex stares at the religious depiction for a long minute. The representation seems eerily familiar, but through the assorted grime all she is able to make out are blood-covered bones. "No. I guess I can't. Am I supposed too?" _

_"Admittedly, no." Nimue divulges in a manner that serves to confound Alex even further. She holds up a hand to forestall the additional angry commentary that is on the edge of Alex's lips. "That does not make them any less important."_

_"Then get to it! I'm sick of these games! Start making sense, or I am out of here! And finished with listening to the likes of you!" Alex's patience is done, and Nimue surprisingly concurs. Explanations have been well earned, and it is now time to put the pieces together._

_"As you have no doubt discovered, this is a sanctuary." Nimue begins while walking up to Alex, standing next to the girl. "But unlike those that you may be familiar with this is a cursed, foul-"_

_"You have no right to be the judge!" Alex snaps, interrupting furiously. "You can't seriously tell me another persons' belief is any BETTER then anyone else's!"_

_"Peace Alex. Peace. You are quick in your judgments'." Seeing how Alex is inapt Nimue tries diplomacy once again. "I ask for but a few minutes than you may choose whether to ignore me, or not. Is this acceptable?" _

_"Fine! Make it count." Alex says before crossing her arms in a gesture of contempt. In truth this is merely for show. Her inquisitiveness is in full control, and it commands all her self-discipline not to harass Nimue for the multitude of answers at the very tip of her admittedly short tongue._

_"That creature," Nimue points upwards at the hornet-like thing. "Is called a Mirage Hornet in your language. They are a very hardy race, and fiendishly difficult to locate."_

_"I take it that's why they got their name." Alex appropriately assumes._

_"That is right. The war had long begun before these… things," the singular word is spit out with disgust, "appeared at least on the battlefield. You see Alex, humans were fighting each other before the hornets intervened on this plane." In exchange Alex offers nothing but a blank expression. The same that would be found in any high school class that doesn't begin with 'Art' or 'Sleep'. Nimue having read people for years correctly theorizes that Alex is utterly clueless. "They are not native to your world Alex. I do not know where they originate. To be forthright, I do not care. What is of the essence is that these Mirage Hornets have a leader. She goes by the name of Elgavath. She is a beast of remarkable dominance, vengeance, and malice. Only much later did I discover that the war started thanks to their manipulation into human civilizations. What you see in this town, in this house of worship, is one such example among hundreds."_

_"I still don't understand." Alex replies as she tries to connect what Nimue is telling her to the ruins, and bodies lying strewn about. The very conception of a fantastical, mythological insect capable of destroying lives is an absurd notion. She recalls having seen some low-budget, poor quality horror movie with a plot involving a maniacal, murderous nest of supersized hornets. The image of a poor, rather overly plump man running down a street screaming right before being impaled through the center of his chest comes to mind. Alex fortunately is able to conceal the giggling grin that wants so desperately to burst out._

_If Alex's face changes Nimue does not seem to notice, her expressions are unmoving. "I am relieved you do not. Had your answer been different I would be rather alarmed." Nimue's tone is not one Alex is familiar with. Such conviction__ and emotion pulses through each syllable, the intensity is blatant. "You see these people are those who in your time would be considered cultists. This town was loyal to Elgavath, and her cause."_

_To Alex this does not seem so bad. Worshipping insects might be a bit outlandish, but more peculiar things are possible. Why Nimue is so perturbed remains a mystery. Nimue catches the gaze in Alex's eyes, and sighs deeply._

_"I understand your hesitance, but time is growing short. Whether you succeed or not is dependent upon how well you listen, and how well you heed my words of advice." Gently, but forcefully Nimue leads Alex around to the opposite side of the altar. Using both hands Nimue grabs two concealed handholds allowing the top of the altar to swivel around to reveal that the black stone is hollow. A caustic stench permeates the air, and Alex has to turn her head for a moment as the worst of the fumes dissipate._

_At Nimue's beckoning Alex peers cautiously over the edge not prepared for what she finds inside. Human remains. Alex's eyes widen, unable to tear her gaze away from the grotesque spectacle before her. After the carnage she has seen she is prepared for more blackened, charred bones. This discovery, however, is beyond understanding, worse than the most horrible monsters in the scariest of nightmares, exceeding the trauma Nimue has thus far proffered to a reluctant Alex. The sight is shocking, revolting. So much so that Alex gives in to her stomach's demands, turning her head as she violently empties the contents of her stomach, coughing desperately to clear the foul taste of acid and disgust out of her mouth. Nimue politely offers a flask of water to which Alex greedily consumes a large portion. The remainder is used to flush her mouth, but unfortunately she cannot undo the terrors her brain was just forced to ingest so easily._

_The cadaver, unlike those outside, is intact and recognizable. That however makes this entire spectacle so memorable, and Alex sincerely wishes she would never have to envision it again. The body is without clothes revealing the gender to be a girl who could not be older than twenty. She also lacks a head, severed cleanly right below the chin. Such a seamless cut indicates no accident, and offers further credibility to Nimue's statement about receiving a skull. More disturbing is that the journey into death was not quiet, or pleasant. Burns; cuts, missing fingernails, broken bones, and crushed limbs all testify to the anguish this poor individual was condemned to endure. _

_Suddenly the strange channels around the dais make sense. They are for the transport of bodily fluids, tears, sweat, and blood. That would also explain Nimue's insistence upon not touching the stone. Alex is fortunate she took the advice._

_"A child?" Alex looks to Nimue._

_"Yes."_

_"But… how…why?" A million thoughts drive through Alex's skull in that moment. A life ended so young, cruelly wrenched away, and for what purpose, to be transposed into smoldering vestiges? The questions do not cease, and for once Alex begins to re-evaluate Nimue's evil nature. "You didn't have to show me this you know." Alex responds, voice hollow, devoid of the emotions she is valiantly attempting to conceal._

_Once again Nimue shakes her head in negation. "You are wrong. Never would you believe me if you were not witness to the evil that infests this despicable place." Nimue stands next to Alex before placing a hand upon her shoulder. Unlike before, Alex does nothing to remove the offending limb. Instead she finds the reassurance welcoming. This is a trend that only continues as Nimue, ignoring the carnage before her reaches down to neck of the body. Nimble fingers grasp on to a golden necklace, centered upon which is an amulet. Adorned upon the rare metal is shield with two swords above to form an 'X'. Without so much as a word Nimue yanks the jewelry free, the clasp breaking at the same time a tear escapes from the woman's eyes._

_"You see Alex," Nimue does not try to conceal the crystal tears of pain freely flowing down both cheeks. "That amulet is special. Not everyone is allowed to wear such a piece of jewelry. That necklace is personal, and symbolizes someone under my protection." _

_Alex takes the proffered ornament from the trembling hand, and holds it up to better inspect the design. "I still don't understand."_

_"I know you do not. If you look closely you may see writing etched into the surface." Nimue says quietly. Alex turns the gemmed amulet about to make out the inscription in tiny silver letters. 'Unitas' is above the swords. 'Pax' below the shield, 'Fratres' along the left edge, 'Collegium' along the right edge._

_"What does it say?" The language is unfamiliar, and might as well be conceived in alien._

_"The swords symbolize the violence that threatens to consume us all. The shield is our protection from the chaos. The words translated mean Unity, Peace, Brotherhood, Sisterhood. Together these values allow a society to flourish. Without them we lose ourselves to the darkness that lies within just waiting to escape." Nimue explains as more emotion fills her voice. "That inscription, like the emblem, is not allocated, but to specific individuals of the royal family."_

_A moment passes for the full implication to sink deep into Alex's core, and when it does it is all she is capable of doing to bite down the shout of despair. "That girl," she swallows hard, throat suddenly very tight, and dry. "That girl is your family?" _

_The voice is barely above a whisper, but somehow Nimue hears each syllable clearly. "Yes. Her name was Serenity. She was number thirteen in the matricidal line for the throne. But that is irrelevant. What is important was that I sent a message with her Alex. I sent her on a mission of peace. She may be young by your standards, but do not be misled. She was an ambassador, having earned the respect of the Court, the full authority of the Queen, and the power to dictate any necessary terms required to facilitate tranquility. Her life was ended, but she was not simply killed; she was tortured for days. Her suffering was constant, prolonged, and unending. She was under my protection. She was my cousin. The reason she was so slowly condemned to her fate was not for punishment, but as a sacrifice to the creature above. These… fanatics believe that anguish__,__ and suffering appease and strengthen their Eglavath, their goddess. They accept as truth that offerings of life energy will one day allow her to walk the Earth again. Those that aid in this endeavor will flourish, and prosper for all eternity."_

_Whatever vestiges of anger Alex harbors towards Nimue have dissipated. For the first time she is under the impression that perhaps Nimue was lenient. The sentiment is echoed by the hostility in her voice as she speaks again, after gathering herself. "Such a betrayal, such dastardly deceit has no place in my kingdom Alex. I could not let such a deed go unchallenged. You may consider my ways unreasonable, but soon you will be forced to make such weighty choices."_

_"Why? What's so special about me? I'm just a stupid nobody!" Alex challenges before wiping away a tear that escapes._

_Nimue sadly smiles at the act, and turns Alex around so they are facing one another. "The war lasted many years. Countless souls died because of my leadership, and in the end it did not seem to make a difference. The demons, under Eglavath's influence swarming over my realm were too strong. I was not able to succeed in my duty as Queen. I could not stop the apocalypse, so I gave my life to stall its' emergence. For over one thousand years I have waited for the opportunity to redeem myself. That is why I am talking to you, Alex Russo. I do not know why fate has chosen you for such a task. I do not know what direction the future will take, but I do know that the greatest challenge of your life has already begun."_

_"Started what? You keep talking about my fate, and other gibberish! Just get out with it, and say what I must do!" Alex insists loudly._

_"You must accomplish what I could not. You must rally your allies__,__ to counter the coming shroud. If you cannot, the world will perish."_

_"What? You can't be serious!" Alex is unbelieving. Nimue can't be telling the truth. "I can't! I don't have any friends! Who are my allies?"_

_Nimue shakes her head slowly. "Now is not the time. You are long overdue, and your period of slumber has expired. You must waken. When you do you will find your wounds slowly healing. We will speak soon. Go."_

* * *

Returning to consciousness is a painful experience. Everything hurts, inside and out. Vaguely Alex is able to make out sobbing, loud keening. As more senses return she realizes that her head is being cradled in soft hands. With eyes still closed she discovers that everything is still attached and appears to be working, toes, fingers, arms, legs.

Stevie is sobbing loudly, her eyes closed as she keens in misery. Both of her hands cradle Alex's head close to her breast. She no longer cares about the fragments of flesh sticking to her digits. All that matters is Alex is gone. Absorbed in her sadness, Stevie misses Alex's first silent, shaky inhalation, her eyelids fluttering as they try to open. That is until Alex moans weakly.

At first Stevie believes it is her imagination. Then perfect, unmarked eyelids open to reveal the most beautiful, dark brown eyes. A second passes for the incredible moment to sink into her frayed, confused brain. When it does, only one word is able to pass her lips.

"ALEX!"


	8. Chapter 8: Assignment Complete

**This took wwaaaayyyyy to long for me to update. I'm ssoooo sorry! So I'm going to keep this way way brief! Thank you to my awesome betas for all the advice and making me re-write a certain part over and over and over again until it is perfect! Swear, I was going to kill you guys but in the end you were totally right! Love you guys!**

* * *

**Chapter 8:**

Max sighs heavily as he treads softly down the corridor. The hallway is carpeted with a plush, tasteful blue and red pattern that feels eerily homey. Wooden panels lined with of former Directors and other noteworthy individuals are on his left. To the right are abstract pieces that all somehow work together to generate tranquility, stability, harmony. Solid colors, textures and collages of beauty that truly create order from chaos; sense out of confusion, peace from war.

Ordinarily Max would have stopped, studied and cherished this moment, a time when he is able to admire the incredible wonder inside the human mind.

Today though, is not that day; instead of serenity he finds discord. Instead of joy he finds dread. Instead of welcoming this meeting with eagerness he finds himself fearful.

Nonetheless, he is a man of duty, honor bound and proud. He will not be discredited, allow those who depend on him down, or most importantly of all, fail his own ideals of right, wrong and what is best for The Greater Good.

That is why he continues down a hallway, that despite all the harmless appearances, contains his fate within its' deceptive grasp. None of the ideas of self doubt and worry show on his features, not even when he stops at a solid, heavy oak door. Knocking loudly upon it.

"Door's open come on in," the female voice tones out in expectation at the young man that appears. Max knows that privacy is critical and closes it behind him.

What he steps into is similar to the hallway. Light green carpet adorns the floor. A rug of what appears to be of Asian Indian design sits in front of a highly polished cherry desk. The perfectly symmetrical swirls, circles and squares of the rug combine into a mosaic that compliments the walls. Although the curtains are pulled closed Max knows the sun is shining outside by the thin threads of light that escape at the ends and where twin pieces of heavy red fabric meet in the middle.

As decorated as the room maybe Max is far more interested in the attractive female sitting behind the desk. A thin pile of folders sitting directly opposite the computer is enough of a clue that the woman is fully engaged in her work.

Gesturing the red head at the desk offers him the chair across from her. "Please Max, take a seat." Instead of standing she remains seated, using her right hand instead to politely point where she wants him to go.

Inwardly this causes Max to wince. Nine times out of ten his interactions with the good Director do _not_ go this way at all. At the very least both are usually quite informal. With her taking the lead like she has the minute fact of her not standing is powerful reinforcement of just who wears the pants, or skirt as it may be, in this particular building. As Max sits in the comfortable leather chair across from his boss he nods his thanks.

Another alarm bell in his mind sounds when he notes her hand tapping on a control pad tied directly into the desk. Barely audible static appears for a second before disappearing as if it never existed. He arches a brow as if to double check. "Sound proof Director?"

"Of course. Would you expect anything else?"

The temptation to sigh or frown is overwhelming but steadfastly he keeps his face firm. This is a skill that has taken an impressive amount of time to master. He has perfected this attribute so well that only a very few gifted individuals are privy to this ability. Unfortunately for him, as rare as those people may be, the woman across from him is capable instantly of detecting the change. A fact that perturbs him thoroughly since, while he remains readable, she remains as mysterious and unpredictable as the day the two met.

A subtle tilt of her head offers Max the clue that she is waiting for him to begin. He does so but with a question intended to throw her off guard. "I take it you read my latest report."

"Yes. Why wouldn't I have?" This time it is her turn to suppress her emotions. Unlike him she decides not to do so and allows the frown to show through. "You are after all my most valuable agent Max".

"Let us not kid ourselves we both know that your time is valuable. You can't be everywhere at once or devotedly reading every single case that crosses your desk. Even if one or two of them happen to be mine." For someone in his younger years known for generating chaos and confusion his growth and maturity is incredible. The dark haired man crosses his arms indignantly while leaning back for the answer. "So. Tell me Director what is it this time."

The redhead maintains a perfect poker face before placing her hands on the desk in front of her. From the look on her face Max isn't sure what to expect. This could either be high praise or high condemnation. His last report was complete but to be sure he isn't, and never has been, one to include a high degree of detail. This is coupled with the fact that due to security purposes he had to assume that the message might not even arrive on his boss's desk.

She stares steadily at Max as he picks up a trinket off her desk moving it this way and that as she speaks. "Before we start how about you tell me what happened. Without the code words."

Max begins to relive the memories and details to the best of his abilities. Telling her everything from the shootout to his impromptu escape with Bull. The last is still his meeting with gang leader. What Max does not include is that he has his own reservations. Years may have passed between when he last spoke to Alex or Justin but from having watched them from the sidelines. He is able to see a scheme in place, something both; particularly Alex excels at carrying out.

"So." She pauses and opens the file again; plucking out a photo of the person he's supposed to shoot.

The man is a tall blonde with short-cropped hair. He is wearing a suit that is impervious of any flaws, perfect in every way; from the white starched shirt, to the pressed black pants, and wrinkle free tie. All of this accents his blatant position in higher society. Nancy shakes her head at the realization that his individual is slated to die. Death by the very hands of her lover, the thought is one that makes her heart turn and skip but not in a good way. It terrifies her down to her very soul. As the professional that none of disturbance reaches the surface to appear in her expressions.

"You're ordered to kill this person, Justin. You know department policy and protocol on such requests."

"Yeah, yeah." Max waves his hand dismissively at the Director. "So this is where you tell me you're pulling the plug on the operation and I get a new assignment." Nancy holding a colored image rather then the black and white he was originally given by the gang Boss is missed on him.

Her eyebrows arch for a moment as if to question the statement before responding. "No. You're not only authorized to continue your intelligence gathering operation but you are sanctioned the usage of lethal force."

"What?" Max jumps out of his seat utterly startled. "You're not serious! Common. Director." Max pleads before taking his chair once again. Face stone serious. "Nancy, we've known each other a long time. What is going on?"

An unsmiling face and crossed arms on the seated female in gives Max the answer without the verbal response. "I am. In fact you are not only authorized you are ordered to carry out this assignment." If possible Max's eyes widen from saucers into full-fledged dinner plates.

The reaction makes her grin in amusement. Of course nothing is humorous about murdering someone but Max's expressions are so damn cute to her. They always have been a source of amusement to her since they met. That was a long time ago in school. In fact she was Max's first girlfriend.

He very nearly uprooted his entire family by revealing the fact that they were wizards by treating her to a magic carpet ride. Thankfully his masterful sister Alex with some creative ingenuity by everyone else saved him from making the terrible mistake.

After they graduated it was by chance that they met soon after Max became integrated into the FBI. Nancy did not make a good field agent but she was masterful when it came to organized planning and leadership. The two quickly rekindled what they started ensuring that their relationship never interfered with their jobs.

Nancy sighs depressingly before touching her forehead. "You're not going to let up are you?"

Max blinks for a moment as he ponders a response. "Do you want me too?"

The answer hangs in the air for a moment, their eyes locked until Nancy yields. "I never could say no to you." She returns to rub her temples for a moment. "Truthfully Max I don't know. This is a command from the higher ups. I can't override it even though I would if I could. I suspect this is coming from Homeland Security and NSA. You know how they like to use us for their dirty work instead of going through CIA. We're easier to pushover.

"I'll give you everything I've got but it is bare minimum. They believe a company called _The Box of Paranormal Magic and Illusions_ is a front for a much larger scale illegal operation. Supposedly all of this is a shield for some sort of fanatics or highly ritualistic cult. This Justin person has been confirmed as one of their leaders."

"That also means that I… we suffer the consequences if I don't succeed." Max states solemnly. Nancy immediately detects the shift in her boyfriend's emotions and moves to where he is seated, pulling him upwards and into a hug.

"Look Max don't worry about it so much." She clutches him tightly with both hands gently rocking him back and forth.

"Easy for you to say," Max grimly replies as he ends the embrace gently. "You aren't the one tasked with killing another human being."

Although the two are a few steps apart Nancy doesn't free Max's hands and instead pulls him closer for a kiss. "Look, I can't lie to you Max, but they know. They know everything," her voice is dangerously quiet, her eyes meeting his, soft serenity and sympathy filling her beautiful irises. Max is about to speak but a finger touches his lips, cutting him off. "Max, one of the higher ups knows your background. They know about your training. They know about your military aspirations. They know all about your special skills."

Max steps back as he digests this new information. His head suddenly hurts. A hand comes up to massage his forehead at the place above his eye that feels like it will explode from the pressure. "Just what are you saying Nancy?" Part of his voice wants to yell, to scream, to erupt in loudness and vent all the frustration that is threatening to encompass his entire soul. Yet he cannot. His mind, his training and most of all his heart will not allow him. All three agree that this situation is utterly out of his girlfriends' hands. Turning this entire debacle into an all out argument will resolve nothing except hurt a good thing – or rather two good people.

Gears churn in Maxs' mind and Nancy is able to see them turning, grinding, sparks flying from between the cogs as they struggle to comprehend the insane amount of discoveries he is only now being privy too. "They are using you. They are using me."

A heavy exhale escapes Max's lips as Nancy eyes her boyfriend with growing worry. Not solely because of the enormity of what is being said but for the sake of their relationship too. "Who is 'they'?"

Nancy gently takes one of Max's hands in her own palm, the other she places against his cheek. "You know the compartmentalization between everyone." With the tension so heavy in the room Nancy is able to feel the stress in her boyfriend, the pain coming off of him in waves. The urge to cry is great but she refuses and pushes her emotions down and to the side.

Max has had enough and the sudden dagger in his voice drips with poison. He is not going to go on some happy charade that ends with someone dying without knowing why. "Nancy, drop it. Give it me to me straight or I walk out _that_ door," he points for added effect. "And I'll never return."

Silence fills the air as eyes meet once more in a test of will that leaves both breathless and Nancy trying to figure out a way to evade the question. Inwardly she realizes none exist. "I wasn't lying about the compartmentalization part." Nancy removes her hands from Max's and rests them crossed against her chest wearily. "You can call yourself whatever you want Max. In your heart of hearts I do truly believe you're FBI, forever and always. That doesn't change anything though. You have an important skill set. Homeland gets that. You've done jobs that border on the fringe of military operations before. This is no different."

"Yeah, but none of those involved me shooting a civilian."

"I don't envy your task Max but NSA has something big going on. They've called in; forgive the pun, 'big guns' for this one. Hell, even CIA is on board this train." Nancy flashes him a smile of disbelief for a second before her stoic manner returns in force. "I don't have the foggiest idea what is happening but you know as well as I do that these agencies don't play nice together."

More gears grind away in Max's head, some so fast that they are beyond sparking and have turned simply red hot. "What your saying is that none of them trust each other and are calling in a third party to do their job." He rationalizes carefully. Nancy nods her head cautiously. "Are they telling the truth, is this," he pauses for the right word trying to wrap his mind around the consequences of what is being suggested. "I guess what I'm asking, is are they right?"

The pain in Nancy's throat builds. She recognizes that voice. The voice happens in two circumstances. They are opposite sides of the same coin. One is when Max is being himself, carefree, innocent, recklessly stupid, fearless and funny. The second is when he is truly terrified, a soft waver, whether from doubt or excitement being the only barest hint. To her, the voice is adorable, cute and shows a side of Max that so often is not seen. In her opinion the boy grew up too fast. She also knows that this is why he is asking the question.

This is a path they will walk together, as one, no blame, no doubt just certainty in an action that neither may fully understand. He may pull the trigger but Nancy is as responsible as he, she is the one giving the mission. She also has the capability, even if illegal to influence her boyfriend down another path, even at great cost to their careers. That is why he asks, whether all of this, what they have, past, present and future is justified in being risked.

"I don't need to remind you why you were chosen for this job. You also know why you're being given the order and not someone else. You're the best shot we have."

The tension in the room returns instantly and Max instinctively reaches for Nancy again, pulling her close as they're lips meet once more. "Come back to me alive Max. Promise me you'll come back to me."

* * *

Max lies down on his stomach on the uncomfortable rooftop. Despite wearing military fatigues that are carefully picked to mix into the urban environment he decides it isn't enough and determines to go the extra step. From his personal collection of hand made gillie suits he selects a light toned outfit. The mesh suit slips over and attaches to the fatigues. Sand and rock; even a touch of grey gravel with the occasional bit of fake foliage are carefully entwined throughout the netted fabric. Together the camouflaged clothing with the gillie suit allows him to seamlessly meld into the background.

The vivid sun makes a similar assault against his vulnerable eyes. Like the wind though it is having no success. Normally he would wear glasses to protect his eyes but he can't. The reduction in vision might affect his aim. After all that is what the highly specialized scope on his rifle is for.

If the mission were to last mere minutes or even an hour or two all of these elaborate preparations would not be required. However this is not the case in the least. This is not even similar to his last tasks. The former were easy: confuse and evade. Of course staying alive is a requirement as well.

However, this time is quite different. Max is alone. He found nearby fifteen story building with rooftop access roughly 1400 hundred meters away from entrance to the company. The butt of his military grade rifle is firmly in place against his shoulder. Concealed between an air conditioning unit and an air intact duct it is impossible for anyone to see him at all.

While Max waits he cannot help but wonder why this person, this Justin is so critical and why he must be killed. As far as he may recall such an operation has never been done in all the time he as been with the FBI. Then again, this entire mission is completely against every police policy that exists, FBI or not. Nancy has to be right; this must be some other agency.

Yet that doesn't stop the butterflies in his stomach. One eye flickers to the small black and white picture that he has carefully taped to the rooftop. Easy enough to grab and go, subtle enough to cover with any part of his body, visible enough for him to verify the target. As time ebbs forward Max cannot help but feel that there is something strangely familiar about the image.

From his vintage point he is able to see that whatever is harbored inside that building must be impressive. Using the zoom and enlargement capabilities of the scope on his rifle he is able to spot security checkpoints behind the doors. The multitude of people ensures that this killing is going to be messy. The risk for collateral damage is rising too, hitting an innocent civilian is the last thing that he want to do. Not only for the harm to his career but the potential guilt burned into soul. This mission is hard enough as it is without thinking about all the endless possibilities that could go wrong.

All of this weighs on Max heavily more and more as he lies in wait. A predator stalking a prey that he has no knowledge of and off information that isn't even from within his own division or even department. Everything about this pulse through his head that this is exploit is wrong. From the very pit of his stomach, his gut, and his instincts this action is wholly wrong.

Yet he swore an oath, to protect, to obey and serve and Max is a man of his word, even if that means going against his own beliefs.

* * *

Justin's stress level is increasing with each passing second. Demonic activity is rare. A level six disturbance is almost unheard of. Ever since the communiqué from Rome by Mike McFly report after report continues to flood into the Bureau. In the last two days alone more potential demon type briefings have accumulated then in all of the previous year. Combined.

The powerful institution is not necessarily unaccustomed to such developments except in this case the timing cannot be worse. Lax activity in the previous weeks has allowed for greater allowance of work breaks and temporary dismissal of many of the specialized teams used to address such eventualities. However, despite vacations being canceled and employees recalled a sizable fraction cannot, or do not want to be reached. What staff and teams are available are already stretched beyond their limits.

Kara and Justin are in one of the conference rooms alone. Beautiful rays of sun and a friendly blue sky are overhead flooding warmth and happiness into the room through the large floor to ceiling windows. No one may argue the essential function the Ops Center represents but in an equally manner both are relieved to be out of the shadows and flickering computer screens that the large room represents.

Sadly, however wonderful the outside is does nothing to alleviate the tense stress filling the air like a putrid smell. In fact if anything that smell seems to increase as they desperately try to determine the best, most effective course of action. A large world map spread out on the table in front of them. Several smaller graphics of specific cities are in a neat pile nearby and within easy access.

With Charles Trujillo, the other director having not reported in Kara and Justin have little choice but to take up the slack. The cumulative days of long hours and little sleep combined with alerts that always seem to sound at the most inconvenient of times is draining both quickly. Hence why they are alone in a briefing room to figure out a new course of action. The two have been at this task for hours. Going over every shred of information that the Bureau has been assembling. Both realize a clue must be present somewhere the question remains will they be able to find the proverbial word, phrase, image or sentence in the piled stacks of paper.

"I don't see what choice we have, Justin." Kara begins as she peers down at the world map again in deep thought. "I think we are over analyzing the situation." She cautiously approaches running a finger over the various marked circles spread out over the continents. Each represents a separate detection of a high-ranking undesirable creature.

Justin gives her a look that means he wants more of an explanation.

"Bear with me for a moment." Kara states as Justin cautiously nods. "We have potentially hostile intentions all over the place. Right?"

"Right…" Justin echoes her not certain where this line of thinking is going.

"When did all of this start?" She inquires.

"When the alarms-"

"No." She interrupts before he is able to finish the sentence. "That's not what I meant. When. Where did all of this seem to start?"

The room is eerily quiet as the gears turn in Justin's brain. Another moment passes before he looks at Kara in astonishment. His eyes wide open.

"We've been looking in the wrong location the _whole_ time." The emphasis on 'whole' is laced with disgust, frustration and anger. Not at Kara or anyone else but himself. _How can I_ _be this DAMN stupid!_

"Justin!" Kara approaches and places a soft hand on his shoulder. Turning him around so that the two are facing one another. Dangerous eyes meet her own. "Quit it!" You aren't dumb. You made a mistake. Get over it. Happens to the best of us.

"Yeah, well not to me!" He snaps. "Stay out of this!"

"Or what?" Kara moves with Justin's pacing making sure he can't avoid her line of reasoning. "Being pissed and upset isn't going to change what is happening. Live with it! Move on. If you can't do your job, leave!" For once since the start of this conversation she matches his irritated tones.

Strangely Justin smiles. Perhaps the lack of sleep is beginning to really catch up to him as Kara continues on her tirade.

Kara having worked closely beside him for as long as she has recognizes the look. The stare of is one of forgotten love. Many might consider him to be reminiscing about a past girlfriend but this isn't the case. He already has one of those, a special, wonderful, terrific girl he is overjoyed to call his soul mate.

No, the girl he is remembering is quite different, the total complete opposite from him in fact. Kara's words eerily taunt. They mock in a memory that Justin continually wishes turned out to be different. He will never admit this to anyone, especially not Kara but she nearly word-for-word echoes what Alex said so long ago on that terrible, horrible fateful day when his perfect world shattered into a million unrecognizable pieces.

More often then not the two siblings mix as well as oil does with water. They are utterly incompatible. One philosophy is entirely at odds with the other and with seldom if any compromise. In those rare instances when one may be agreed upon the two are closer then close. The bonds between sister and brother become unfathomably strong, as it is beautiful and joyous.

That is what Justin misses the most. Alex's carefree spirit, her rebellious attitude and determination to forge ahead no matter the cost or hardship in her path.

All to often this involves Justin and even if more frequently than he would ever like to admit he becomes embroiled in her deviant schemes too. The irony is that despite him being ever increasingly annoyed he cannot deny that the two make albeit, a dysfunctional pair. He too often discovers that she more than any other has made him mature, grow and explore possibilities he himself would never have had the guts to do so otherwise.

_She_ more than any other single individual allowed him to become director. _She_ more than any other realized that he was capable of much more than being an encyclopedia of knowledge. _She_ more than any other allowed him to harness and funnel his great awareness and prowess of the mind into something tangible, useable, functional. _She, _without consciously being aware of her actions pushed, forced and drove him to greatness. _She_ turned him into the man that he is today.

Emotions long bubbled up try to surface once more. Justin fiercely resists the urge to cry. All of these powerful feelings rush together in a torrent of memories that pound with great fortitude within the confines of his mind before being shoved aside by some unknown burst of strength and determination.

Now is not the time to think about past trauma within his family. Now is the time to focus on the events at hand. To devise some sort of stratagem against the madness playing across places both near and so far so away.

Justin sighs and rubs his forehead with the palm of his hand before sitting down in his chair once more. He lets out a big sigh, face scrunched up in deep thought.

"You're right Kara. We can't keep approaching this like we are. We are going to run ourselves ragged."

The statement is very true. With every available team dispatched there is little pause for the normal shift rotations that allow each of them brief respite. Nonetheless, exhaustion does take its course and eventually they have to stop. Even if the end result is a few hours of rest. This is doubly felt for Justin and Kara.

Justin is so occupied that he doesn't even realize that he has stopped his pacing and sits at one of the chairs. Massaging his forehead in an attempt to try to focus on the task at hand. His brain screams with indignation.

"You're suggesting we recall the teams and start at the beginning. "Justin surmises.

Kara shakes her head no. "Not entirely. Return temporally back to rotating shifts. Give all of them respite save for one."

He easily is able to comprehend the rest, nodding in agreement. "Alright. And send one, our best to where we first detected something out of the ordinary."

"Exactly. The _Broken Talisman._"

"Ok. That is our plan for now. I'm going to head to the park across the street for thirty. You know how to find me Kara."

"Will do," she responds. "Justin?"

"Yeah?" He turning as he is about to make his way out of the room. Fresh air sounds great and he is hasty to be not where he is currently.

"You know the policy."

Justin hits his forehead with a palm. "Damnit, can't we forget about that regulation for now?"

Justin and Kara may be responsible for many of the changes during the Bureau's reorganization but Charles Trujillo still held a bit of influence. He insisted that those above a certain rank within the Bureau conceal their identity by magic. Many strongly opposed the decision as being excessive. While from a security standpoint the choice seems reasonable what doesn't is when no threat has _ever_ come close to threatening anyone near the high echelons of command.

For reasons that continue to remain unknown Charles is even backed by the Wizard Council. An interfering move that thoroughly stuns both of them. While very capable of out ranking any decision the Bureau they are much more content to allow the organization to effectively retain its pure independence. They not only and agree but _insist_ that Charles 'suggestion' be written into policy.

Justin and Kara hold their tongues when they receive the directive from the Council. Privately they retain strong suspicions that the Council is aware of something they are not. Regardless little may be done to mitigate the situation save for biding by the rules the best they can.

"Must we always debate this rule? By the tone of her voice and crossed arms Kara is making her stance rather clear. If you don't I'll make the call."

To ensure adherence of the policy Kara or anyone else regardless of position to place the building into what is labeled 'Command & Control Lockdown'. This means that the admittedly few who are governed by that rule are forbidden to leave. A magical enchantment automatically activated around the building to prevent escape, either physically or by other means such as teleportation.

Justin holds his ground, narrowing his eyes to give Kara a gaze that would scare the dead. "You wouldn't."

She shrugs and casually walks over to a nearby button on the wall. A finger poised over the innocent looking red mechanism. "Try me."

Seconds pass between them in a silent challenge of will. Each tests the other wondering when the other might back down.

Kara's fast mind decides on another tactic and she lowers her hand. "Look. I'm not here to threaten you. We've both broken that rule more times then I can count but this is different." Her face softens into one sympathy and thought. "Something is going on out there," she gestures with a sweeping motion of an arm towards the windows. "You've always taught us to prepare for the worst. Well, the last thing we need is something to happen to you. Demons are appearing. They're a threat. We even have confirmation! You _cannot_ go out there without concealment."

Logic is one of Justin's weaknesses and everything Kara says is very right. _I hate it when she does that, using my own reasoning against me._ He sighs again before straightening up. "Fine. Have it your way. I'll be good." She brightens immensely at hearing his consent.

"Try to enjoy yourself. Don't think about work. We'll all be here when you get back." Kara smiles at him enthusiastically.

_Life is too short. No point in arguing. I just want to be outside these walls and in real air. _Justin grins back at her. "I'll do just that. Be back in a bit!"

* * *

Luxor and Dr. Ice or Ice for short is doing there best to track the residual dark magic. Director Justin's instructions were quite clear in the matter. They were not to return until the job is done. A difficult task in the best of situations is made more intricate by the almost non-existent briefing, limited amount of equipment and not much time to prepare.

The unfortunate truth is that, in addition to being one the best monster hunting teams they are also the best rested and prepped. The duos are coming off of twelve hours of down time after working in the field for almost two days straight. Both feel that this is barely adequate but considering that some teams are lucky to receive half of that time they do not mention any feelings of discontent.

Previously Luxor and Ice were the worst of the worst but after a terrific incident involving a Leviathan, an extraordinarily rare level 7. Leviathans are not only gigantic, often a city block or more, have the ability to fly and are capable of resisting enormous magical energies that normally would subdue any other lesser demon.

The Leviathan is the first appearance of such a powerful creature in many centuries and takes everyone by surprise. As a result many of the most skilled hunters were outright killed or eaten. The entire escapade shock the foundations of the Bureau to its' foundation because few monster hunter teams of the admittedly already limited teams survived. In the end the creature could not be killed and instead trapped and returned to the dark depths to which it initially resided.

At the time Justin is just a neophyte having not even captured his first level 1. They are the most useless, mindless and 'safe' monsters of them all. Admittedly no monster is entirely safe but these creatures come very close.

Ice and Luxor are not stupid and consider this development a very blatant and violent wake-up call. Determined not to make such mistakes or become some other terrible demons snack they redouble their efforts. Paying far more attention to their training and spending many hours off the clock to ensure they are prepared for anything. Although both are in their early thirties they are at they're physical best and are able to run laps around themselves if they had their twenty-something counterparts.

This doesn't extent simply to physicality either but usage of equipment, spells and most important of all, sharpness of mind. The use of reason, logic, gathering information and making educated choices based upon their discoveries. Again something both lacked in their previous years. Although many were at first skeptical of all their traits slowly they regained and most importantly gained respect for their talents.

Using the wizard portals in conjunction with a teleportation spell the duo quickly find themselves in the hustle and bustle of the various crowds of a region known as _Anvil Province. _Despite being on a small peninsula the area is fairly run down. Although there is a seaport the water isn't deep enough to support the larger freighters and cargos that bring in the most money. And there is not enough traders utilizing what does exist to offer much more then a few coins here and there. With law enforcement few and in-between illicit trade of all sorts has taken full residence.

Any and all types of undesirables wander the grime-covered streets visiting various locations for cheap liquor, sex, drugs or anything else they may desire. That is why Ice and Luxor agree on forgoing the usual uniform attire and choose far more casual clothing to assist in them blending in.

Ice wears combat fatigues and black boots while Luxor dons biker leathers, jacket, pants and boots. Both have similarly matching backpacks that not only double as adding authenticity as being shady figures but conceal valuable equipment. Tools that may not be easily stowed away within jacket pockets, hidden pockets on pant legs, or narrow bands on the inseams of boots.

"You have any idea where we are heading Luxor?" Ice inquires. She has never been to this part of the city and so far hasn't been very impressed. Everything that unlawful, undesirable and unwanted seemed to thrive within the shadows of the streets and shadows making up the road they are walking on.

Luxor nods at his partner. "Yeah I do. Been there once. Should be there shortly. Gonna warn you though. The bar is rough. Not to say that that isn't true of most bars. But this one takes the cake."

"What do you mean?

"I mean that it is a place where you get your drink maybe a bite of crappy food and chill with your pals. Or in this case pal. And only your pal." He smirks knowingly. He doesn't bother to tell her that Anvil Province locally is known by another name, _Fools Country. _Since no one in there right mind would set foot here. Those looking for pleasantries or a vacation are in for a rude and sometimes fatal surprise.

Luxor doesn't have any intention or desire to live up to the local reputation. He also doesn't want his unaccustomed partner to be a part of the local legends either. All of these are as pleasant as the ones. "Oh yeah, keep an eye on everything you own. There are plenty of ways for your possessions to unexpectedly grow feet and walk away. Once that happens it will be a miracle and then some if you ever got them back."

"You sound like you know this place well." Ice states as she kicks a rusty can down the dirty filth called a road. Surprisingly Luxor doesn't immediately respond. She notices, "Something wrong?"

"Nah. Just thinkin'." Although he replies and his voice is steady the volume decreases dramatically, so much so that Ice struggles to make out what he is saying. "Look we're almost there." He points at a dimly light, marginally functional neon light with a quarter of its lights non-functional. "Let me lead. Stick together. And be prepared. This place is rough."

As if to exemplify this point noise from inside reaches their ears as the front doors suddenly open and a body is unceremoniously tossed harshly out head first and stomach down. The person skids along the muck until being stopped by the adjacent wall, groaning. The doors close as abruptly as they open.

"Make it look like we are a couple. We'll fit in a lot better." Luxor says.

Ice laughs. "We aren't one already?" Playfully she hits him on the shoulder a bit harder then he would have liked.

Fortunately Luxor takes the strike with stride and shoots her a grin before taking the lead. They exchange a look before continuing inside. The interior is just as dank and dingy as the outside appears to be. Why on Earth the director wants to send them to this place is beyond their comprehension but he's the boss. What the boss wants the boss gets.

Instantly the pair are bombarded with the sounds of a some sort of terrible noise that is attempting to call itself a song by a band neither has heard of and unfortunately will remember for all the wrong reasons. The damn tune stuck forever within their traumatized minds. While the joint is not completely full it is not empty either.

Any resemblance to safety codes regarding smoking, fire escapes and the like all seemed to have taken a back seat to the all mighty dollar. Just as well, the two weren't planning to stick around very long to discover what catastrophe might happen within these depressing confines.

With a tip of his head Luxor again takes the lead ignoring the various stares. Ice, unfortunately is not faring as well. Females, while not uncommon are rare enough that when one enters, particularly once as furnished and attractive in shiny black leather tend to receive lots of attention.

One enterprising patron going so far as to cope a feel of her behind only to find a kick to his forehead. The force sends him tumbling backwards in his seat. Two hulking bouncers appearing from out of nowhere to haul the very angry and very drunk patron outside to join the other violators alongside what is becoming a rather crowed wall.

"Hmm, guess all that combat training we had wasn't for nothin' after all." Ice says to Luxor who turned around to see all the commotion.

He frowns at her. "Look, don't go advertising our skills." At the curious glance he continues. "Around these parts you're always being judged. People here have a sixth, seventh, and eighth sense about what makes a person tick. They can size you up fast and rapidly determine what kind of wares you offer in comparison to the risk it may be for them to acquire what belongings you possess.

"You get what I'm saying? These guys and girls don't know you. Don't want to know you. And don't care about your past or future. All, or rather most of them are worried about is how much value might be carried within your pockets. If they believe they are capable of taking all that away from you they will. And don't fool yourself. I doubt you would find guns or any kind of deadly magic's in these ramparts but you may certainly find yourself with the greater amount of eight to fourteen inches of gleaming steel through your gut; or worse, in a thin neat line across your throat.

Ice absorbs this new information with greater and greater apprehension this certainly is not turning out to be her idea of the perfect easy mission. Luxor notes the subtle lines of concern on his partners face and places a reassuring hand on her shoulder, their eyes meeting.

"I'm not here to scare you out of your mind but I want you to be aware of the real risks represented within this area. This is a place that lacks organized civilization," his lips moving just beyond touching her ear. " The people's ideas about law are governed by what is on their backs and the weapons they carry. Everyone may look harmless but do not forget for an instant that all of that may change for the worst in a heartbeat. Should that heartbeat happen, I want us both prepared and at our best. Playing catch-up is no fun in the middle of a fist or knife fight."

For the first time Ice is feeling much more at ease having not only the confidence of her partner but of having full comprehension of the potential consequences. "Go grab us some drinks. I'll find a spot."

"Sounds good. I could desperately use a strong bruske." Luxor states with far more enthusiasm then he means. This invokes a laugh from his partner.

Emboldened Ice navigates her way through crowded bar until she successfully finds a rare, secluded table in a gloomy corner. Just as well too because it lets them hide their equipment more effectively from wondering eyes.

Out of the corner of his eyes Luxor gives a most subtle of nod to Dr. Ice. She removes a device from a pocket looking much like an ordinary, a very ordinary and plain cell phone at that. Dutifully she taps a few buttons as if to make out she is texting. The guise succeeds brilliantly. She is so busy staring at the screen that she is unaware of another joining her at the table. Luxor has returned with two metallic steins.

Ice raises an eyebrow in question. "I don't believe you, martini in a _stein?_" Luxor shrugs as he takes a long and rather noisy swallow of the strong liquor. "You sure you haven't gone _completely_ insane?"

"Better then the alternative of having to try to dance, dodge, and dropkick a few people to get my insane butt over here." Grinning he pushes the other stein towards her. "Besides I made up for it and brought you a Guinness."

The comment usually is one that would invoke quite a response from Dr. Ice but in this case she is disturbingly, uncharacteristically quiet. Her gaze is stuck firmly on the small handheld device that moment ago she was dutifully tapping upon.

Eyes meet and the pair silently communicate, one hand touching another as the electronic pad is handed over. Filling the screen is a highly specialized graph that monitors for lingering magic and densities. One normally would expect residual spells and the like to be hardly detectable or if they are stronger perhaps a quarter of the way up and immovable, stationary. Instead this is very different. Not only are the lines unfathomably high they bounce up and down randomly acting without pattern or relationship or explanation.

And neither has a clue what that means.

Luxor takes out a secondary device and attaches it to the base of the first. Instantly the graph display minimizes into the corner while another program loads. Inconspicuously he waves it around as if to find the best reception for his cell phone. In actuality the minute sensors register the lingering magic. Even more important is the kind.

Dr. Ice happily sips her drink while Luxor lets out a well-acted curse of frustration, shaking the device as if it would somehow make all his troubles disappear.

"No reception?" Ice allows her mug to rest on the table, tilting her head to the side as the carefully memorized words are recited. Inconspicuous words, phrases and names designed for situations where talk about magic and the like are impossible.

A year previously both would have struggled with even the most simple of codes now both have mastered the art and not only verbally. With a tilts of the head, nod, flick of a hand, finger, or even catching each others' eye the pair are determined to always be able to read the others' thoughts or motions.

What they failed to grasp recently ago is that their very lives and those of those they are sworn to protect depend on these abilities.

_There is no possible way for this to happen. I'll let her figure it out. She always was the better one at this technology stuff. _That is why Luxor responds as he does. "Nah. Damn thing is busted. Reads seven bars with no signal."

A raised eyebrow is the sole reaction from Dr. Ice as she takes the detector. Intuitively she realizes that six is the maximum the device is capable of reading. If Luxor is saying seven the only conclusion is that the reading is off the charts – or in this case graph.

No signal implies that despite a reading it is impossible for the exact, specific spot of origin to be found. However, since the magic detector was never specifically designed for such a role this isn't all that uncommon, and is even anticipated.

One glance at the screen is enough for Ice's eyes to widen. Luxor looks on amused as his partner swears loudly.

"So what's the problem?" His attention momentarily focused on a fight at a nearby table before focusing on Ice once more.

Unlike Luxor who has his elbows on the table hands clasped together with chin on top Ice is nothing but a bundle of nerves.

_If I'm wrong and HQ hears about it… _She shudders at the thought. They pair, despite the obvious improvement still have far more to make up for and aside from occasional praise from Justin and Kara, are not well received.

Predictably Luxor senses the anxiety and stress across his partners features and places a hand on top of hers. "Stop. You're going to give yourself grey hair." He earns himself a slap for that remark. However that does not ease Ice in the least and her scowl reflects this clearly.

Underneath the table she brings in her legs so that she sits up straighter so that she looks that much more imposing. The expression on her face is unchanged despite Luxor's increasingly miserable attempts at alleviating the tension permeating the air like a bad smell.

Unfortunately the pair is the sole individuals who seem to be aware of the trouble since everyone else around them is boisterous, rowdy, mostly drunk and having a good time.

Part of the reason Luxor is so accepting of the situation is that he is not one to dwell on the impracticalities or logic of what may be transpiring. If the facts lead to a conclusion ultimately that is what must be occurring.

Dr. Ice on the other hand is much more skeptical. A student of technology she is all to accustom to software and hardware errors that cause innumerable trouble. Given the radical and unheard of data being received she is attributing most this as technology once again failing in a spectacular fashion. That is why her fingers for the last thirty minutes have been dancing across touchpad's, checking, checking, and rechecking once more. Still not convinced she retrieves the backup detector. And it too offers the same results as the first.

Unpredictably another alert appears this time very unlike all the others. This blip is _moving_. While on the verge of the magic detectors range the identity cannot be mistaken. Demon. Creature level: Undetermined.

Ice quickly shakes her head in pure amazement at the colossal amount of "coincidences" the pair have found so fair. Justin always taught them if it appears to be too absorb to be real than it likely is worthy of investigation.

"Come on big boy. Time for us to rock and roll. We've got to jet out of here to catch a certain friend of ours."

* * *

Justin starts his trek towards the elevator. To his surprise the door opens immediate as he pushes the down button, the car empty. He hits a highly selective combination of buttons on the number pad. Ensuring that there are no stops. Rarely does he ever use this option because in his mind it is impolite, insensitive and sets a bad example and lack of respect to those who work below him.

Today though, today though is different. He is not in the mood for conversation or for people to wonder why he hasn't appeared for days.

In all the time the Bureau has existed no one as young as Justin as been appointed to such a high position. Kara, being only a few years older is not far behind. Together the two represent a fundamental shift not only in age, but viewpoints. The younger generation, those rising or joining their ranks are quick to grasp the powerhouse the pair demonstrate and are willing to follow them in any endeavor.

This at first highly perturbs the more elder staff and even the Wizard Council. Over time however, no one is able to dispute his or her record of success. For many they, Justin especially is a hero. He is the one who defied all odds. He brought the Bureau back from the brink of internal destruction. Eliminated the petty politics that built walls and tore them down by ushering in respect, honor and unity.

An integral part of this process is ensuring that those in positions of power, he especially, are seen, heard and regarded as normal. He wants to be the person who works with you, is invited to your family barbecue as a friend not as your dictatorship-like boss. That is normally. His mind is far away from the familiarities that he shares with his employees. His mentality is concentrated on the secretive events taking place in the darkened rooms over a dozen stories above him.

That does not stop friendly greetings and waves from those around him as the steel doors open on into the lobby. While polite his attitude is one that they recognize meaning that he needs space.

Rumors abound about why so many dramatic changes have happened so quickly. Justin and Kara having not been seen for days reinforce this notion rather strongly. No doubt he appearing out of blue is only going to bolster vague ideas of what is transpiring in the highest echelons of the Bureau.

Justin is fully aware of the whispers but frankly he does not care. Even if he did little may be done to soothe the rumors. At the moment all he is trying to do is regain his senses, clear his mind and revitalize his brain with some desperately needed relaxation. All is he concerned about is that his identity is concealed, he followed policy and made Kara happy.

A stop at a vending machine for a bottle of water is his last chore before walking through the security checkpoint. After which, only glass doors prevent his escape into the outside and very normal world. The guards offer the slightest of pleasantries before the doors slide open.

Glorious sunshine greeting his eyes while the softest of breezes kisses his cheek like a long lost friend. For once in days Justin feels at peace.

He never realizes that having a concealed identity only works effectively if it is swapped out routinely. It never crosses his mind that having the same persona all the time is virtually the same as being undisguised.

The same tall, working blond office man that has been photographed and tracked for days walks forward. He touches the bark of one of the budding trees along the sidewalk. The rough texture on his fingers ensuring that this isn't a dream, this is real. His will to move is null, he is content to stay, enjoy and wallow in the sights, sounds, smells, hustle and bustle of the world around him - the cityscape that is New York.

* * *

Hour upon boring hour is beginning to weigh heavily upon Max. With the sun shining brilliantly overhead only complicates his misery. Fortunately his hiding place offers considerable shade but does little to alleviate the morbid temperature and rising humidity. Both are making him hot, sweaty and quite uncomfortable. Regardless, Max is prepared. His training prepared him for such trivialities as roasting like a pig or fighting off the cramps that come from staying in one position for too long.

Every so often he switches between the scope sight options from zoom to the more high tech features. These allow him a literal inside look behind doors that would normally be impossible to see from the outside.

One of the fundamental rules when on an operation like this is monitoring patterns. Recognizing the normal flow of people in and noting any imperfections or deviations from that standard. Usually when such a variation happens is when the moment to act occurs.

That is why during one of these casual checks is his interest becomes peaked. Quickly he double checks that the magazine is properly loaded, safety disengaged, thumb ready on the trigger.

What first attracts his attention is the abrupt acknowledgment from many inside to this one particular individual. A flick of a switch allows Max to increase the magnification. What is causing the disturbance is a man, apparently well dressed. Although he cannot identify the face perfectly through the security glass there is enough of a resemblance of the individual to that of the target picture for him to take aim.

Max realizes that the man is going to leave from the direction he is walking. That will make the shot all the easier. Carefully he thinks of the most effective fatal shots: head, neck and chest. The question then becomes which region to target. Max forces himself to relax, breathing with the utmost care to ensure that he remains in perfect control for the perfect shot. Two bullets; better known as double tapping to ensure the objective is accomplished.

With one eye glued to his scope he glances quickly to take one last look at photo.

As the man steps outside Max has his confirmation. The two match_._ Lack of color doesn't give any assistance to Max but the height; manner of dress and the attention the man was given moments ago all give credibility to his importance. What truly gives away the target are the facial features, specifically high cheekbones, set jaw line, nose and midnight black hair. An expensive looking suit, tie and dress shoes reinforce the notion of importance, a perfect match for the photograph once more.

Having read the brief file before hand Max recalls the suspect in question to likely be of European, likely Germanic decent. Everything fits together, the intelligence, the picture and his own observations.

He resists the urge to tense, to close his eyes. Max may have only recently joined the FBI in the eyes of the government but in truth he has been practicing for far longer. The first year he enters high school Max receives the assignment that at the time he has no way of knowing will forever shape his life.

From a long list of possibilities Max is allowed to select a job, a career person for him to shadow for several days. As with most things he does at that age, he pays little heed. Unlike his sister Alex this is not deliberate but rather from his rather colorful, erratic outlook upon life. In the end he is left with the only remaining choice. A police officer named Stanton Lamp or Officer Lamp.

Officer Lamp is a man that stands 5'7 and has a medium build. A trait that he is most grateful since his black uniform is just tight enough in the right spots and loose enough in others to ensure he is at ease no matter where or what he is doing. At one time he sported a beard but that quickly disappeared when, in an especially embarrassing situation a drunken teenager decided to pull and tug at his facial hair. Ever since that episode he has remained hair free in that region. His haircut too reflects his experience in that while remaining slightly longer in the back by an inch or so is notably short on the sides and front. Combed back and with the barest touches of gel he is able form a fitting style all his own that accents his slightly tanned skin and black police hat.

Officer Lamp may seem to be the normal, everyday officer but in reality he has a personality just as colorful as Maxs'.

Often he is found singing gleefully on the job. He isn't particularly concerned about who may overhear his tunes either. This could be in the form of melodically giving Miranda Rights or impersonating his favorite opera singers. His far from normal habits result in him being frequently teased by his peers. Nonetheless, they find no fault in his performance or dedication to the job. Despite his far-from-ordinary behavior the man is well liked and his comedic, impromptu performances never fail to bring a smile to even the most stern and serious of individuals; even those that end up in the back of his squad car.

Perhaps this is the reason Max became intrigued by Stanton. The job-shadowing project ended after a few days much to Max's severe regret. However Stanton is amazed by Max's character and personality. His impression of the boy merely grows after the pair caught a thief; a fait Stanton would have found considerably more difficult had Max not been present.

The intense training Max has undergone powerfully asserts itself forcing away his recollections. His emotions of doubt and regret are submerged beneath layers of do or die exercises and certification to reach the pinnacle of where he is able to use such a powerfully lethal piece of technology.

For whatever strange reason the target has stopped, leaning against a tree but in a way that doesn't affect his angle of fire. Using lightning fast reflexes Max makes the most minute of adjustments on the weapon using the scope once more.

_I'm sorry. Forgive me._ Initially aimed for the chest Max readjusts the angle and sight up towards the head ensuring to allow a few inches for wind speed and gravity. This is when he makes a discovery.

Sunlight catches a something brilliantly metallic. So bright Max is forced to activate one of the many filters on his scope to avoid messing up his shot or worse, being blinded. The filter instantly eases the color spectrum into something much more easy and pleasing to his eyes. But he is curious as to what generated that flash to begin with. Instantly, and for the briefest of moments another memory sparks into his mind.

* * *

"_Congratulations Max. You're dead!" Stanton claps Max on the back in mock support after the boy hesitates._

_Puzzled Max looks back up to his mentor with confusion. His aim is dead on, two shots directly into the chest. "But I was right on target! How am I dead?" He huffs in agitation. They have gone through this drill over and over again and still he seems to fail._

"_You waited." Stanton matter-of-factually states. _

_Max shakes his head in misunderstanding, damp brown curls moving with him. "But it was only-"_

"_Look Max." Stanton turns his body so they are facing the metal practice silhouette. "When you had eyes on target you paused. You can't do that."_

"_A second or two isn't going to make a difference," the eighteen year old protests. "I just wanted to make sure! Where is the harm in that?" Max crosses his arms in frustration once more. It requires a lot for him to reach this point but the continued exercise is wearing him thin. This is especially true with the lack of answers coming from Stanton._

_Stanton gazes at the target and then backs down at Max. "Alright. I was hoping you could discover this yourself." His voice is calm, steady and filled with patience. "Fine then. Once you have target confirmation take the shot. Don't second-guess yourself. There are a million things that could go wrong. Yes we may be five hundred meters away but you can't pay attention to anything other then what is in your sights, where you want your bullets to be headed. Think about where we are. Right now we are out in the open range. There is no risk. In the real world you won't have that luxury. All it could take is for the right angle of the sun or any light source for that matter, to reflect off your weapon or scope and give away your position._

"_Then you might have something coming your way instead of the other way around. That isn't something you are going to learn from a textbook Max. Although I can guarantee your instructors are going to tell you differently." _

_Stanton has had many conversations with Max over his future and possible career choices. After discovering the boy's affinity with weapons and particularly gifted skill with precision distance shooting he begins to steer the boy on the path towards police rather then military._

"_Is that what they taught you?" Max inquires with great curiosity. Stanton rarely shares his views on such matters and he is going to take advantage of the moment. _

"_If you mean the police force no. I learned this from my time in the army. I went through their rigors to pass _their _requirements to become an official sniper." Stanton recalls in memory how absolutely brutal that six-week course from Hell was. He encountered everything from the lack of food and sleep, to wading through foul smelling, freezing water, or crawling face down in thick, gooey mud for hours on end. "Nothing the police came up with is remotely close to the intensity."_

Max may not think that though when he ends up in the Academy though. _He hides the emerging smile on his face at such a thought and stays serene._

"_While being a great shot is an obvious necessity that is but one small part of any mission. The ability to evade, to move in light or dark without being noticed, to be patient, quick and able to adapt rapidly are traits that are equally as, if not more significant then shooting in the first place. After all, if you cannot reach a point to even identify your objective there is no possibility of eliminating it either." Stanton says._

_Max's eyes widen in surprise. He hadn't expected this from Stanton. Not the fun empowered, enthusiastic singing, opera loving cop he is proud to call his friend. Yet somehow the impact sinks in deeply. Stanton is telling the truth. All those skills, all his talents how he became so knowledgeable… The hard fist of reality digs deep into Max's gut as his brain struggles to process this new discovery. "You're serious," is all the boy is able to stammer out with great exasperation._

"_The military is not your place Max. You're too kind hearted and pure for that kind of life." Stanton places a hand on Max's shoulder. "Being a sniper, being part of a the military no matter the branch is a proud distinction and one that should be worn with pride but that lifestyle is not for you. Every time you place your finger on the trigger means you bear incredible responsibility and power. In exchange though, the price may be high. You lose part of your soul for every time that trigger is pulled in anger."_

_After a moment Max nods as the words sink in. "Then why? What is the difference?"_

_That is a question that takes Stanton years to value and largely only through his relationship with Max is he able to begin to comprehend an answer. "Both careers mean you protect and serve, you are there to protect and fight for others. The military though means you fight in regions that have little if any relationship to you directly. You may be given orders that make little or no sense yet you are expected to carry them out. In war, in combat situations there are no rules. You play to win. And to win is a matter of life or death."_

"_The police follow similar procedures but you will always know who you are protecting. You will always see the results of your work. You will be able to see first hand the change you make in your community. You may return to your family. Combat is different. If there ever is that moment where you must pull the trigger you are prepared and trained to roll the dice. You intuitively realize that someone may be killed by your bullet but cherish the fact that you do your absolute best to make them non-lethal."_

"_Why are you training me then? Why give me this type of responsibility if you have done everything possible to keep me away from this lifestyle?" As Stanton continues with Max's training he continually challenges his young protégé with ethical and moral dilemmas. Each one is more challenging then the last. Some, most rather, leave Max utterly stumped and occasionally in great distress._

_Stanton, despite the pleas for explanation is brutally simplistic in his answers and explanations. 'Live with it' or 'Figure it out' are sentences that become all too familiar._

"_Because you are you." Stanton responds casually, arms crossed. _

_Max peers up at him in confusion. "What is that supposed to mean?"_

"_It means Max," Stanton for the first time shifts and looks at his apprentice. Eyes are dark and serious, voice flowing with sincere determination. "That you are a Russo. Through you I have met your family. I know your brother and sister. You may see them as different yet at your cores you are very similar. I could say no. I rightly should say no. I did not because doing so would change nothing wouldn't it?_

"_Your mind had found a track to follow before I even entered the picture. After I did I became an engine that allowed you to gather speed in finding your place in life. Ultimately, after everything I could not dissuade you from this lifestyle. You made your choice. I could say nothing to convince you to do otherwise."_

_A light bulb goes off in Max's brain. Brown eyes becoming animated as he makes the connection that he has been struggling to find for so long. "That! That is why you posed all those questions to me! Why you made me work through problem after problem that had no answer!" Max's voice is rapid and animated with the sudden discovery._

_Stanton inwardly smiles. _Oh how far you have come along Max! _"Yes Max. That is right. I asked them time and time again. I had to show you that no problem, no mission is 'yes' or 'no'. You cannot act, in the police, in the military, in life with such a black and white mentality. If you do you will live a horrible life condemning those around you and yourself. To not question, to not find the answers on your own, is to give up the greatest freedom of all, your right to decide._

"_Yes Max. I did not want to train you. I did everything possible to convince you to do anything else besides this career. You found the strength to persevere. You found determination and courage in the face of terrific challenge and adversity. You have the capability to do anything. You have a sharp mind that is able to take risks, to channel your fearlessness with educated decisions that weigh risk, danger and justice. Most importantly of all, you have strength to say no. I'm proud of you Max. You have exceeded my every hope and expectation. You can learn little more from me."_

_Silence fills the air as Stanton purposely allows Max the time he needs to think about what he says. The wind picks up, a gentle kiss on the cheek to both in a quiet manner that helps to reassure both. Stanton knows the next question as much as Max is dreading to ask it. No matter how positive and encouraging Stanton maybe one question is, and has been, harassing him for quite some time. Now is the time to ask, now Max feels he has earned the right to ask and the right to receive the response._

_He swallows hard, chest feeling heavy as if weighted down with lead. "Have you… have you killed someone before?" Despite the comfortable temperature Max is drenched in nervous sweat._

_Stanton doesn't reply for a minute before turning away from Max. He pivots so that his gaze is once more out upon the range looking at the macabre arrangement of metal targets. "Yes Max. Yes I have. I do not want you to ever have to go through what I did. I pray to the Lord above that you never find yourself where you must fire, but I will do everything in my power to ensure that you are prepared if and when that day comes." _I won't let you make the same mistake I did.

* * *

Max's temptation to pay more attention is overwhelming but he doesn't. Mentally and physically his body and mind change. His breathing becoming calm, steady, eyes unwavering and when the time is right, his finger moves, pulling inwards on the small piece of black metal. Two loud bangs sounding while his eyes process the terrible disbelief in front of him.

The fraction of a second difference fills Max with pure, absolute shock and horror. The weapon responds immediately, the recoil bruising his shoulder. Not caring at all what he sees or what is happening. All that matters are the trigger is pulled; ammunition is loaded and powered by mechanical processes and physics; the weapon has done its deadly duty.

Two fifty-caliber bullets traveling at just over three thousand feet per second reach their target a second and a half later. Ammunition that is capable of disabling a car or boat engine slam into their flesh and body objective. At ranges of less then one thousand meters the shoots would be powerful enough to simply pass through the target regardless of whether it is light metal or organic tissue; even if it wasn't an armor piercing round.

Since the bullets are anti-personal they have lost some of their striking power. Even so they collided with flesh in a contest that is one sided. The brass head penetrates first before flattening slightly as it finds hard bone and cartilage. Both yield cracking and shattering. The hardened tip of the bullets actually exiting flesh while bone and metallic fragments ricochet merrily inside the victim.

Etched deep into the surface of the metal in absolute permanence is a name Max will always remember. A name that is deep part of his past, helped shape him into the person he is in the present, and the person he hoped, prayed to find again in his future.

On that simple piece of metal is three words, two of them a name, an unforgettable, unmistakable name that represents countless memories: _Justin Russo._

None of that pain matters as Max screams loudly. Not that doing so would help or anyone could possibly hear over the roar of the intake ducts. Terrified Max wants to watch. He wants to prove himself wrong, stay there and see the aftermath.

This is one part of his training he ignores. To peer over the edge and use binoculars to look at the blood stained area for confirmation of target killed. But he can't. His heart is too filled with disappointment. His mind stunned with the atrocity he committed. He cannot bear to see the results, his heart pleads for reality to be different and his mind is just as happy to go along with the ploy. Every fiber of his being wants to move away from the roaring vents on the roof.

Already he is packing up his rifle, unscrewing the barrel. His heart feels as if it dropped out of his body, numb and in shock. His mind still fathoming what he did. What crime he just committed. Tears of shock and fear threaten to spill down his cheeks as his trembling fingers complete their task. Efficiently stuffing the weapon back into its case and bag.

The first round of barely perceivable screams reach his ears carried aloft by the suddenly increased and vengeful wind. Further away he is able to make out the approach of flashing blue, white and red lights. Their sirens wail and overpower the screams and the terror of the crowds.

While a measure of frantic hope to those who saw the crime, they represent the exact opposite to Max. Misery, failure, absolute and complete hopelessness, an action he will forever remember and replay in his mind.

An award for his prowess and skillful shot no doubt awaits him back at the FBI. This is no honor like that of the medal of honor or silver cross, but one that will forever remind him that he shot at a civilian. An award that will forever be a reminder that he targeted not an ordinary civilian, not even a criminal, but his own brother.

Although he is out of sight and off the roof he remains on the top few steps. With the rifle strapped to his back all he is able to do is bury his face in his hands and cry.

_I killed my brother! _Soft sobs escalating as the gravity of his action takes full hold. Fat tears leaking through clenched fingers as he struggles for breath from the enormous pain suddenly engulfing his entire body. _I killed my brother!_

One crime, one moment, one sibling, one action, one event, one brother all summed up in two words; two words imprinted on a name plate that he saw too late: _Justin Russo_.

* * *

**Yay! Lots of questions, virtually no answers and people wanting to know more! Lots more to come in the next chapter! Which is already well on its way! Please R & R! =**)


End file.
